Til Death Do Us Part
by Sendibo
Summary: Nearly forty years after the birth of their first son...
1. Chapter 1

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures. I do not own any material. Set nearly 40 years after the birth of their first son. **

Chapter One

'Aargh!'

Louisa woke with a start as the telephone beside her bed rang loudly. From the snarl of pain next to her she could tell that the impromptu alarm had caused her husband to jump and jar his back again. God, he'd be a nightmare all day now. As she pressed the button for the nurse, she grabbed the phone.

'Hi, hang on a minute, please.' She turned to Martin. 'Are you alright?'

'No! You can tell – whoever – is on that bloody phone – not to ring – inconvenient tosser – '

His stilted rant was drowned out as the door opened and the nurse came in.

'Good morning Dr Ellingham, what's he done this time Louisa?'

'It's the back again, must have jumped and jolted it when the phone went.' Satisfied that Martin was being sorted out, she turned back to the phone.

'Joan? Is something wrong? Yes, he's fine, bit of a jolt but nothing new. No, of course not, it's always a good time.' Martin made a noise of disbelief as his wife carried on exchanging pleasantries.

'Right, we'll soon get you more comfortable, won't we?' Martin sulked as the head of red curls bent over him and lowered the bed so that he was lying horizontal. He didn't like it when she patronised him, and he didn't like that she was in charge, but he wouldn't put up with anyone else and she knew it. Pauline Large was now a formidable 61 year old with just as much bounce in her as she'd always had. When she removed her plain nurse's uniform she was still an array of bright shawls and scarves, clashing with her now artificial copper ringlets. She was also one of the few people in the world Martin had complete trust in. After a ten year stint as his receptionist and phlebotomist she'd finally achieved her nursing degree and become Portwenn's community nurse. He had to admit that she excelled in her field, and she frequently accompanied him on trips to the school and the local nursing home. She knew exactly how to make people feel better, while he was able to stay quiet and carry out the more complicated procedures. Their combined double act had improved healthcare in Portwenn hugely – people were a lot more comfortable about calling the Doc when Pauline was coming along.

'So, how bad is it this time?'

'Bed rest for the rest of the day I'm afraid Dr Ellingham. I'll get you you're painkillers, and some breakfast - if you're nice to me!' Martin scowled and grunted in reply.

After his accident, she'd been in charge of his care. Since he had gone into retirement and moved here for convenience, she'd become his main nurse. He preferred her to the others – she'd known him for so long that she dropped the nursing act when she came into the room and didn't treat him like some senile old has been. She was also the only nurse who called him 'Dr Ellingham' which he'd always preferred. True, it was probably just habit from when she worked for him, but he didn't like the new young nurses on a mission to make him smile, calling him by his forename. No respect for their elders at all.

He was pulled out of his reverie by his wife's voice, which had suddenly shot up in pitch.

'What? Really? Oh! Oh, Joanie! It's the most wonderful news!'

Louisa's voice was beginning to tremble in a mixture of laughter, tears and excitement. From his end, Martin could only guess what was going on, but whatever it was he didn't see why it couldn't wait until a more sociable hour. Maybe nocturnal phone calls were how gossip spread so fast round the village; he'd had enough of them in his time to appreciate that they were quite commonplace here. In any case, he would have thought that his wife and daughter would know better.

'How far, how are you? Oh lord! I don't believe it. When's it due?'

'What!' Martin and Pauline both turned their heads to gape at Louisa, a smile on her face from ear to ear. Martin cried out in pain again and Louisa rolled her eyes. He couldn't believe it. Of their three children only one had produced children. James and his wife bred like rabbits, but their eldest son Charlie and daughter Joan had never seemed to be up for procreation. His little girl... Now he understood why Terry had been so frosty with him when he'd first come out of prison, shortly after Charlie was born. He'd wanted him to make an honest woman of Louisa, but seeing as he was due for parole soon Louisa wanted to wait so that he could walk her down the aisle. Martin couldn't understand why at the time after all he'd upset her, but Louisa was extremely loyal and family meant the world to her. In any case, Martin wanted to get hold of that little git Peter, get him up against the wall, and make sure he was going to take care of Joan. Unfortunately since the accident, that was no longer physically possible.

'Give it here, let me speak to her!' He tried to grab the phone from Louisa but she held it out of reach, rather unfairly he thought.

'Yep, about what you'd expect. Looks like his eyes are going to pop out of his head. When will we see you? Give my love to Peter, bye!' She quickly replaced the handset before Martin could try anything stupid. Pauline sensed that she should probably leave the room, but this gossip was just too big to miss, so she headed into their en-suite bathroom under the pretence of cleaning. Anyway she reasoned, she'd been about for so long that her and Al were like family, she deserved to know what was going on.

'Is it – did he – wait till I – stupid kid –'

'He's not a kid Martin, he's-'

'Fourteen years older than her!'

'You're ten years older than me Martin, it doesn't matter when you get to their age. She loves him and that's all that matters.'

'Why wouldn't you let me speak to her, anyway?'

'Because I learnt the hard way that sometimes the only way to stop you saying something stupid is not to let you talk at all. Took me the best part of ten years but there you are.'

'What do you mean?'

'Do you remember our first kiss? Come to think of it, our second and third too? That third one led to us splitting up if you remember rightly.'

'That wasn't the third, which was when you kissed me and then rode off on your bike. And that was hardly splitting up, we conceived Charlie two days later.'

Louisa felt herself soften. Occasionally he dredged up some evidence of the well hidden romantic that she knew lay just below his (extraordinarily thick) surface, and this was one such time. She barely registered that kiss, it was brief and very one sided and in most relationships it would hardly be significant, but the fact that it he'd remembered it so vividly was touching. His sharp, ever learning mind didn't often have room for such mundane details. Still, she wasn't to let herself get sidetracked, if she was to keep family relations up. She made do with a quick peck on the cheek, similar to the one that was now playing in her mind from so long ago.

'Anyway, I'm not going to let you be insensitive this time, it'll just cause an argument and she's got enough on her plate. I don't think it was planned you know, she sounded quite shell-shocked.'

Louisa stated this last fact calmly while her husband spluttered.

'That – that – is he at least going to marry her?'

'That's their business don't you think Martin? Anyway, I'll thank you not to be so hypocritical. We weren't married until after Charlie was born. Don't they remind you of anyone?'

'No.'

'Woman, thirties, unplanned pregnancy, they even live in Portwenn Surgery, for heaven's sake! Older doctor, brilliant but misunderstood, gruff, monosyllabic, well meaning but rude, ringing any bells? Although she's better at handling him than I ever was, she got your logical, argumentative side. She can hold her own, our Joan can.'

Martin was feeling sullen, she'd put forward a fair debate but he still couldn't see the comparison.

'I agree she's the spit of you, looks, temperament,' he ignored the scathing looks being shot from the other side of the bed – 'build, age, whatever you like, but I still fail to see any comparisons, physical, mental or otherwise, between me and Peter Cronk!'

Louisa rolled her eyes; it had been of great amusement and interest to the older villagers when young Joan Ellingham had moved in with the man who was so like her father.

'If you say so, Martin. In any case, they're coming on Saturday, the roads are still dodgy so they're waiting till Charlie comes down with his four by four. And Martin Ellingham, you will be civil to him and sensitive to her, or so help me I'll have to gag you first!'


	2. Chapter 2

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Chapter Two

'Grandma!'

Louisa placed down her book as she heard giggling and the pattering of feet in the corridor outside. She smiled as she heard them grow closer, breaking into a grin as the door of the day room burst open and six year old Alice launched herself into her grandmother's arms. Giving Alice a bear hug, she looked over the girls shoulder expectantly. She didn't have to wait long before Jamie tottered in, desperate to keep up with his favourite big sister and promptly tripped, landing at her feet. Always a determined little boy, he immediately scrambled up and held his arms out for a cuddle. Louisa obligingly scooped him up and smothered him with kisses. She was always delighted that she still had some little children to play with and fuss over, children were her life. James had definitely done her proud, and hopefully soon she'd have another little newborn to hold.

'Hi Mum. Where's Dad got to?' James had entered the room with his wife and two eldest daughters, aged ten and twelve.

Louisa smiled at her son as she looked him over. He was a proper mix up of the two of them. A head of thick, dark wavy hair and his mother's green eyes, but somehow he'd managed to exceed his father with a height of 6'4. And he'd most definitely inherited what Louisa fondly referred to as 'the Ellingham ears'.

'Toilet, he should be back soon. Hi Debbie, hi you two. How's school?'

'Great! We had Christmas play rehearsals this week and I'm one of the angels and all the angels have to do a special dance and Mrs King said it was fantastic and...'

Louisa rolled her eyes at Holly, who giggled. Though she was the older of the two, it was quite clear that she never got a word in edgeways.

'...you are coming to see it, aren't you?'

'We certainly are, it's on the fifteenth isn't it? I've got our tickets already.'

'Tickets for what?' Martin was heading into the room accompanied by Pauline.

'Amy's Christmas show at the school.' Alice looked up from the floor where she was tickling Jamie.

'And mine! Don't forget me, I'm a shepherd! And I get to say some words and-'

'I've got a halo too made out of tinsel and-'

'And Mum's got to make me a hat out of a tea towel-'

Martin was a little overwhelmed as the two girls ambushed him, chattering away and talking over one another so that he couldn't really here what either was saying. Luckily when he'd married Louisa he'd suddenly had to learn to deal with a lot of children, both his and others, and no longer had one lot grown up then the next seemed to come along. He'd become quite good at shutting them up in a tactful way, and also at feigning interest in things he wasn't remotely interested in.

'Come on now; don't go on about it too much, it'll spoil the surprise for me.'

The girls miraculously stopped mid-sentence, and hugged their granddad before making a beeline for the biscuit tin which Louisa had just brought out.

Martin hugged his son briefly. Glancing round, he only saw four children gathered round the tin.

'Where's Shaun today?'

'Didn't want to come, moody little so and so. I tell you, teenagers today!' He looked across and caught his mother laughing at him. 'What?'

'I swear, on you and Joan's thirteenth birthday I swear I sprouted half my grey hairs, you were holy terrors!'

Martin looked across at his wife. 'Your hair isn't grey, it's silver.'

'Well thank you very much Martin, but it's all the same to me.'

Martin didn't see how she could think so. His hair was grey, a dark tarnished iron colour which had darkened gradually from his previous blonde. Louisa's hair had matured the opposite way, her beautiful dark chestnut lightening to equally beautiful bright silver, which caught the light whenever she turned her head as it had always done. Occasionally she let it down so that it fanned just past her shoulders, but mostly she pulled it up into a clasp. Today's was a lovely blue one that he'd bought for her seventieth, which complimented her dress and cardigan perfectly. He'd always found it hard to believe that of all the men in the world she had picked him. Little did he know that she also questioned her luck regularly – she still loved to look deep into his deep grey eyes and hold him, feeling the more defined muscles in his arms from more regular use. He'd always been a very fit man, coming from a job which required him to run about all over the place, and he was also fiercely independent. Though his legs no longer worked as they once had, he liked to do as much as he could by himself. He was brought back to the present by a shriek of anger from his young grandson, who at three years old couldn't keep up with his teasing sisters, and Debbie scolding her daughters while James looked on and laughed.

'Why on earth did you have so many?' Martin addressed his son.

'Come on Dad, only four of them here and you had three.'

'I was only meant to have two, you were an accident. I still swear your mother released two eggs that particular month just to spite me,' Martin grumbled. Louisa rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help laughing – Martin had been protesting that argument for years. Personally she'd been delighted to discover she was expecting twins, as she'd always wanted a big family and they'd only ever planned on two. James looked indignant.

'Hey, why am I the accident and not Joan?'

'Joan was born first, therefore you were child number three.'

'Ha ha - I win, little brother!'

'Joanie!' Louisa sprang up from her chair and hurried across the room, enveloping her daughter in an enormous hug, before turning and giving another to Peter.

'Umm, hi...'

'Call me Louisa, I've told you enough times now,' she scolded him. It had been a strange transition from bratty student to daughter's boyfriend to practical son in law, but she'd got over any awkwardness years ago. Peter still seemed to find it odd calling her by her first name, though they'd always had an unexpectedly close relationship – probably because he was so similar to Martin. The man himself glowered as Peter approached, daring him with his eyes. Peter, who was on best behaviour, held out his hand.

'Good afternoon, Dr Ellingham.' Unable to find fault with the greeting and remembering Louisa's insistence that he behave, Martin merely grunted in a disgruntled way. Joan sprang over and kissed her father on the cheek.

'Hi, Daddy. Hope you're okay?' Louisa smiled over at them; she could see exactly where this was headed.

'You put his back out for two days, he won't be happy with you!' she remarked. Joan smiled ashamedly. 'Sorry about that, Dad.'

Martin couldn't resist smiling back – he could never resist that smile of hers, and she knew it. She was the spitting image of her mother – they were still within an inch of height and they had identical eyes and smiles. Looking back at Louisa's old photos, only their clothes gave away who was who. This could only help in letting her wind her father round her little finger.

'Congratulations,' he muttered, his eyes glassing over in a tell tale manner, which he tried hard to cover up.

'Hey, what's going on? You getting married or something?' James looked confused.

xxx

As Charlie Ellingham entered the room he was met by whooping as he watched his sister being lifted off her feet by her twin, his parents kissing and Peter heading round behind Joan to place his hands protectively over her stomach, as a chorus of children all went 'Ewww!' He immediately assessed the situation correctly – he'd certainly inherited his father's sharp mind, as well as almost everything else. He was much less irritable and better at handling social situations, though he still shied away from them. And as his mother put it, he didn't have a sentimental bone in his body, so simply headed for the last available chair and sat down in silence until all of the gushing stopped. Louisa had learned as Charlie was growing up that not all of Martin's personality was down to his disastrous upbringing – some of it was just Martin.

Louisa pulled away from Martin and smiled at her tall, solemn first born as he shuffled in, muttering something about parking the car. As things settled down and conversation started up, she fell quiet and observed the chaotic mass of bodies around her – due to lack of armchairs James and Debbie were sprawled on the floor with the chattering kids, tickling their various offspring. James was helping his young son to build a brick tower, in preparation for it to be knocked down. Joan was also on the floor, leant against her partner's legs as he absent-mindedly stroked his fingers through her long hair. Martin had reluctantly overcome his inhibitions and begun an animated conversation about property with Charlie and Peter. She couldn't remember the last time there'd been so many Ellingham's in the same room – if only Shaun was here, it would be perfect. She beamed as she looked at all of her children and grandchildren, realising that she'd got her big, happy family after all. And it was all down to Martin.

As Martin glanced over and caught his wife's eye, he saw tears of happiness shining in her eyes as she laughed and mouthed the words 'Thank you'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Chapter Three

It was December fifteenth, the evening of Portwenn Primary's Christmas nativity. Louisa followed Martin out of the building as Peter's 4x4 pulled up outside. Usually Louisa would drive them but her smaller car wasn't quite up to the icy roads, and in any case she'd never liked driving in the dark much. Martin gingerly manoeuvred his electric wheelchair down the gentle slope of the ramp towards the driveway. However he found that it had been cleared of ice and gritted. Louisa caught up with them at the bottom, and helped him into the car. Martin hated the wheelchair. He had never liked it much, but as he'd grown older it had proved more and more restricting.

It had happened in 2020, on a morning like any other. It was a Saturday, and he and Louisa had long promised the kids that they'd go to a beach with some 'proper' sand. They often swam at Roscarrock Cove, but it was a small, rocky, stony beach like many in the area. They soon reached a new harbour with small stretch of soft, powdery sand. It was September, so many tourists were long gone, but it was an exceptionally sunny day and so there were plenty of local families. Louisa revelled in the relaxed atmosphere – they rarely got a proper family day out. After a while, ten year old Charlie nagged that he wanted to swim. Martin, remembering long swimming sessions with Uncle Phil in summers long gone, found that he couldn't say no. He soon found himself cursing at the temperature of the water as Charlie splashed about happily. Louisa had remained on the beach helping the twins to build sandcastles. She also found time to glance over at her poor cold husband. After he'd finally had enough, she eyed him over appreciatively as he emerged from the sea. It had to be said that the long grey trunks weren't exactly Daniel Craig. Neither was the slightly blue skin or grumpy expression. But he still looked incredibly gorgeous in her eyes.

Then her daydream was broken by a chilling sound – the scream of a child. All of a sudden Martin was sprinting towards the scene. She desperately wanted to know if the child was alright, but she had her own to supervise so remained on the beach, helpless.

Martin reached the harbour wall. He immediately assessed what was going on. A child had fallen from the sickeningly high harbour wall. Miraculously the girl had missed the rocks and fallen into the deeper water, but she couldn't be more than about eight, and didn't look like she could swim well. He could see crowds leaning over the wall, shouting for somebody to call the coastguard, but he could also see that the girl wasn't going to be able to stay above the surface for long. Nobody could risk going over the wall without safety equipment. Without hesitation, he began to pick his way across the slippery rocks, trying to move quickly but safely. After a minute or two, he slid into the water and reached for the floundering child who clung to him, coughing and choking on the salty water.

After draping a towel around Charlie's shoulders, Louisa had looked desperately around for somebody she knew, and luckily spotted a neighbour just along the beach. Grabbing her bag, she rushed across and asked her if she could watch the children before rushing off. Arriving at the scene, she felt a mixture of relief and pride as she saw her husband swimming towards the rocks, clutching a young girl.

Martin soon realised that the rocks couldn't be navigated with the girl there – she'd need to hold him for balance, which would make the task difficult and dangerous, as the rocks were covered in slippery weed. Still, he'd stopped her from coming to harm. He'd get them both out of the cold water, and then they should sit on the rocks and wait for assistance. He found foothold on a submerged rock, and lifted the child out and sat her on a rock. She was still coughing and spluttering, so he briefly examined her airway. All was fine, she was just in shock. He was beginning to shiver in the freezing water, so took hold of a rock and hoisted himself up. Teetering on top of it, he made to head across and join the girl... and slipped.

xxx

'MARTIN!' Louisa felt her heart stop as her husband slipped in his traditional comedic fashion, as if he'd stepped on a banana skin. She waited for him to get up, swear, clutch his head, and be in a foul mood for the rest of the day. Please Martin... but he didn't get up. Gazing at his crumpled form on the rocks, she made a start picking her way across them.

Her feet had barely left the sand before she felt herself grabbed from behind.

'You can't go out there my love, you saw what happened. It isn't safe. We've called an ambulance, they'll be here soon!'

She didn't care. Battling against her captor, she turned and struggled but to no avail. She was still prepared to fight, Martin needed her. She wasn't exactly sure what she'd do once she got there, but he was unconscious – if he slipped into the sea he wouldn't be able to keep himself afloat. She was only quietened when she heard shouts from behind her.

'Charlie! Come back! No – no, James! Oh god - Dr Ellingham! Louisa, what happened?'

Louisa held her children to her as Joan started to cry, soon followed by the boys. The girl on the rock was clearly upset too. By the time the air ambulance arrived on the scene a crowd had gathered and there was mild hysteria on the beach. Louisa remained calm however – she had to stay strong for the kids. The ambulance was here now anyway. A space was cleared on the beach for the helicopter to land on. Ten minutes later, Martin had been carefully transported across the rocks, followed by the small girl who had been forgotten by everyone save her grandmother, who took the youngster in her arms.

The crowd watched as Martin's stretcher was carefully loaded into the ambulance. Louisa had to see him, to be with him, even if he couldn't respond. After a brief arrangement with the neighbour who agreed to take the children for the night, she dashed over to the ambulance. One of the crew took her hand and helped her in as the rotor blades began to spin. After a heartwrenching look out of the window at her kids who looked confused and upset, she turned. The air ambulance was very different to the ones she'd travelled in before. The stretcher was against the wall, and proper seats lined the opposite one. She was told to sit in one, but they didn't face the stretcher and there were two paramedics in between them, blocking her view. She hurried round to the end of the stretcher, where Martin's head lay, held in place with a mask covering his mouth and nose. She couldn't take his hand from where she was positioned, so she made do with stroking his cheek as she finally let the tears come.

'Oh my god, Martin...'

'Louisa?' She momentarily froze.

'You're alive!' She hadn't registered her fear until it was spoken aloud – that maybe he... if it wasn't for his voice and the small movements of his lips, she wouldn't have believed he was conscious.

'Of course I'm alive. Head bloody hurts though.'

She laughed through the tears at the familiarity of his tone.

'Can't they do something for it?'

'They've given me entonox, stupid amateurs.'

'What's that when it's at home?'

'Gas and air.'

'God, that really is crap.'

Martin chuckled as he cast his mind back to the birth of the twins. Louisa had not been impressed by the meagre pain relief on offer, until the doctors decided on a caesarean and knocked her out completely. Then he grimaced with the pain. She gently reached over and took the hand that was now available.

'So, what's happening?'

'Well, I imagine my back will look pretty torn up. And from the feel – or not feel – of it, I've probably partially damaged my spinal cord. At the moment, I can't move or feel anything from the neck down.'

At this remark, she fell silent. He cracked his eyes open, wincing at the sudden light. He saw her head bent and her free hand brushing against her face as her hair fell in her eyes, trying to control her sobs. He longed to reach out his arm to comfort her.

'Louisa, please... please don't worry. It's probably just spinal shock. Until the swelling goes down, we can't know anything for sure – some make a full recovery. I'm probably fine.'

'You don't look fine,' she muttered, though she was temporarily reassured. Most doctors would say that – but Martin told the truth.

'At least I'm still in one piece,' he told her, attempting to smile. But he couldn't hide the way his voice gently shook, giving him away. Louisa saw in his eyes the thing that terrified her the most, the thing that she had never seen before. Martin was scared. He saw the effect that he was having on her, and spoke gently.

'Don't worry Louisa. It'll be fine. I promise.'

xxx

Eight weeks passed. Three long weeks in which Martin endured hours of inpenetrable boredom, mostly spent staring at the ceiling, a prisoner in his own body. He lived for the evenings, when Louisa would turn up without fail at five and they would talk – uninterrupted, illuminating conversations which would not have been so possible back in Portwenn. As soon as he regained feeling in his arms, he needed her touch, the reassurance that he was still alive and a part of the world. One night under his reassurance that she could do no damage, she hesitantly lay along the very edge of the bed and curled into him. They lay dozily until they both drifted off, only woken when a nurse came by and discovered them an hour after visiting time was over. He paid later for the constant pressure of her body against his aching limbs, but he managed to have the best sleep in weeks. Three evenings a week and on weekends, the children would visit. Before meeting Louisa, he couldn't have imagined the pain he felt every evening when the nurse came in and sent them away, took away his family. He had never known love like it before, but now it grieved him to be without it.

Two weeks later came the day when, sitting in silence, he gently squeezed her hand in response to her touch. It seemed a reflex – he didn't realise he'd done it. Several days later he was able to lift his shoulders slightly to lean into her kiss. It exhausted him to do so at first, but by the time eight weeks had passed in hospital with four weeks of agony-inducing physiotherapy, his arms and torso were fully mobile, and he had regained feeling in his legs.

One day had seemed perfect. It was his fifty seventh birthday, a Saturday, and he had been able to spend almost the entire day with his wife and children. In the last hour of visiting time only Louisa remained. She had become a regular fixture in his bed, sitting beside him and leaning back against his chest. He held her to him as they sat peacefully; making the most of the ability to run his hands through her hair, feel her body under his touch, her familiar weight and shape sinking against him.

Then the doctor came down the ward. Martin didn't particularly like the young, arrogant man who seemed excessively patronising. They had often clashed over various diagnoses, but he eventually had to concede that the man knew what he was talking about. Immediately Louisa raised herself from the bed and sat in the chair nearby, reaching out for her husband's hand. She'd sensed in the man's body language that this would be a big visit, and she also sensed that things weren't all as good as they'd seemed five minutes ago, safe in their happy bubble. She heard unfamiliar terms such as 'incomplete SCI', 'spinal shock' and 'thoracic'. However, she got the general gist of the conversation as the news sunk in. In all probability, Martin would never walk again.

xxx

To Louisa's surprise, Martin quickly took his injuries in his stride and made brilliant progress. Later he relayed the information about his condition to her in Layman's terms. She was surprised and a little put out to discover that he had been keeping from her his true fears. But he explained that his condition could have been so much worse, possibly even fatal, if he had hit the rock just a few inches higher. Even though he occasionally felt sorry for himself, he knew that essentially he was lucky. Louisa was positively astounded to hear that he intended to go back to medicine as quickly as possible.

Bringing him home from the hospital turned out to be an enormous operation for all involved. Luckily when they had purchased their house, they had chosen a large one with wide hallways and large doorways. They found that Martin's new electric wheelchair (of which he had spent hours in hospital researching models and finding the best possible one) was easily manoeuvrable around the house. The issue was getting in the house. The steps leading to the front door were cemented over, forming a smooth access ramp to the road. The sitting room was converted to Martin and Louisa's bedroom, though the television and small settee remained in there for him to use. The rest of the sitting room furniture was moved upstairs to their old bedroom, which soon became a playroom for the children, Louisa opting to stay downstairs with Martin. Pauline became a regular in the household, bringing collected prescriptions and tending to his basic nursing duties while Louisa was at work.

Soon however, he became restless in the house all day. He obsessively read medical journals, watched documentaries and drove the locum mad by calling and checking up on various patients, offering advice.

Changes made to the surgery were minor – it had already been fully adapted for wheelchair users under the Disability Act of 2012. It had been a great inconvenience at the time, but he was grateful for it now. The examination couch was lowered and mobility bars installed around the surgery, a new wide desk purchased with higher top. These changes were carried out with minimal disruption, and a month later Martin defied all expectation by returning to work. Upon his return, the surgery had been strung with banners, which he insisted were immediately taken down. The waiting patients smiled knowingly – even without his towering height and domineering stride, he was still 100% the same Doc they knew and hated. He gained quite a bit of attention from the local press. No-one had expected him to continue practising; it was such a physical job.

Martin soon found that in a way it was like partial retirement, and suited him and his family very well. He still worked full hours, shouted at people, made excellent diagnoses and was harassed by the new receptionist (naturally an opinionated twenty-something named Sharon) and patients and in turn provided scathing responses to their inane babble. In the surgery, life continued as normal. But there were no more arguments with Sharon about whether a patient really needed a house call – he could travel about the village but in most cases the village houses were inaccessible, and in any case the patients were frequently more able bodied than him, so they'd be seen more quickly if they came to him. As an addition he was taken off the 'on-call' register, so there were no longer calls in the middle of the night, waking the household and taking him away from the family. And as an added bonus, he no longer banged his head on the low doorways.

At seventy, Martin finally took retirement after listening to Louisa, who insisted that he was exhausting himself with the constant physical exertion – he was fit, but age had taken its toll. There was a small celebration on the evening of his last day. He was sure that it was just an excuse for the village to throw a party and do plenty of damage to their livers without him there to lecture the next day. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that it really was a small get together with some of their closest friends, though he did later question Louisa about the addition of PC Penhale to the guest list.

He was not expecting the huge sadness which engulfed him the next Monday, waking at six as usual, yet faced with all of his days in front of him without the constant intrigue and steady influence in his life that was the surgery. He'd known that he would have to retire sooner or later but had never been able to envision it. He was Dr Martin Ellingham, and always would be.

The next ten years were not some of his best. He remained around the house most of the day. Unable to just sit around and do nothing, he had opened a small clock repair business and took over the dining room, fixing together cogs and screws and leaving just a small corner of the table for the two of them to eat at. Charlie and Joan were away at university – Charlie in London, Joan in Plymouth. James had never really shown much academic interest and had taken up an apprenticeship in computer repair from Al Large. He'd met a young woman called Debbie and had recently moved in with her, and produced a son named Shaun. The house was their own again, and strangely quiet. Though it was too big for them alone, they were reluctant to leave. Under new laws, Louisa was not eligible for retirement until seventy, and to be perfectly honest she hadn't wanted to until then. But Martin was finding it a continual struggle travelling round the village in a wheelchair. Many of the buildings were old and listed, the slopes and narrow lanes difficult to navigate. So after retirement, the two sold the house and moved to High Trees Retirement Home. They still visited the village occasionally. Louisa, suffering from constant nostalgia, was still on the staff list at the school, and popped in to do supply teaching when it was needed.

Martin felt incredibly guilty about this. She was still perfectly able bodied. She insisted that she was perfectly happy where she was as long as she was by his side, as she always had done. But High Trees was situated about fifteen minutes drive inland from Portwenn. There could be no replacement for being able to wander down to the sea, to the shop or visit friends. Everything for her was to be pre-arranged. And on days such as this, she was reliant on her children when weather was bad. She had always been so independent, and he had taken much of that away from her.

xxx

Louisa smiled at her husband as he headed down the slope. Despite his accident and disability he had continued to work, help the community, save lives, provide for their children, and much more. She could have never kept up the mortgage on her salary alone. He had a few back problems but bore the pain well – he was never bed bound for more than two days. He had his independence which in turn allowed her to have hers. She could leave whenever she wanted and know that he'd be okay. He liked to know she was okay too – during a bout of pneumonia a few years ago he'd taken exactly the right steps to make sure she didn't get worse, and she'd made a complete recovery. A weaker man would have caved in and become dependent years back. But not her Martin. He'd allowed their lives to carry on as normal, and thanks to his actions, a young girl did not drown on a beach on that fateful day nearly thirty years ago.


	4. Chapter 4

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Four figures were huddled outside the surgery under Martin's huge umbrella as Joan fumbled around with her keys. When the door finally opened they hurried in behind her, Louisa closing the door forcibly on the storm. Martin manoeuvred his chair into the lounge, relaxing in the bright and cosy atmosphere. He couldn't see why he hadn't done this before, actually. As soon as Joan had moved in here five years ago, she and Peter had redecorated the entire house. All of the walls were a warm cream colour, plain yet cheerful he thought. His and Louisa's rooms at Hightrees were a similar colour. The surgery had retained the dark green carpet, as they had reasoned that the patients would be constantly trampling dirt and goodness knows what else through there. They themselves were sticklers for tidiness (Martin had previously noted that there was much less clutter since Louisa had moved out) so had pale cream carpets in their areas. The sitting room however had laminate flooring, which was useful when Martin came, because his wheelchair picked up dirt that he couldn't remove before entering a room. Back at the home he had another for indoor use, so it wasn't an issue. The new decor helped to preserve the doctor and master of the surgery that he had previously been. It had transformed the surgery into Peter's domain now. Martin's surgery was the old green one in the memories, and he was perfectly happy with that.

They'd caught up in the car on the way down, and were going to eat with Joan and Peter before heading down to the school for the performance. There was a documentary on television about advances in vascular surgery, so Martin and Peter sat in the lounge to watch whilst Louisa helped Joan prepare the meal in the kitchen. Martin was still terse with Peter, but then he had never really felt completely comfortable in the man's company. But during an advert break, he followed Peter into the consulting room, as Peter had received some strange lab test results earlier in the week and wanted Martin to come and give his opinion. Louisa smiled as she watched them go. Her poor husband could never resist a bit of medical mystery. But she had known Peter almost his whole life, and knew that

a) He was stubborn and would ask for advice only as a last resort and

b) He was an intellectual genius and she sincerely doubted that he'd need advice at all, particularly in the medical field.

She was sure her husband had missed these points entirely and shared none of her suspicions.

Martin headed into the consulting room and spied some test papers on the desk. Wheeling himself over, he scanned them quickly, confused.

'There doesn't seem to be anything abnormal about these results. Tested negative, but judging from what it says here you'll get a positive result for thrombosis.'

'I know, a first year med student could probably have figured that one out.'

'So why am I here?'

'I wanted to talk to you... about Joan.'

'What about her?'

'Well, you know we live together, and she's –well – '

Martin grunted in reply.

'Well, I just, I just wanted to... I wanted to marry her. And I just wondered... Well, I wanted to ask you what you... thought about it.' He tailed off, looking embarrassed. Martin was surprised – normally Peter was a very straightforward person. He was also glad that the man in front of him was clearly besotted with his daughter, and he was fully assured that she'd be fully taken care of.

'Good.'

Peter was thrown by Martin's monosyllabic – and positive – reaction. He was determined to do this right, and looked the man in the eye.

'It's just that I know you weren't happy that she's pregnant. But I really will look after her.'

Martin struggled with his inner thoughts for a while, before managing a reply.

'I know.'

Joan stuck her head round the door.

'Dinner's ready!'

As they prepared to leave the room, Peter spoke again.

'Thanks, Dr Ellingham.'

'Martin,' he heard muttered in front of him, and smiled as he headed out behind his father in law.

xxx

An hour later Louisa looked across as her daughter embraced her new fiancée with a new ring on her finger and tears in her eyes. She was delighted for the pair of them – they'd been so settled for so long that she'd begun to think they'd never get married. Glancing at Martin, she could see that he definitely had some adjusting to do. Personally, she'd had her weepy moments around the time that Shaun was born. She'd spent a large proportion of James' wedding day in tears, because her baby boy wasn't a baby any more. Not this time around. Joan had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she hadn't been a baby since she was about two years old.

Martin was the other way around though. She could understand to an extent, she supposed. The father figure was supposed to be one of protection, and despite her age he was still reluctant to give up that job to someone else. Oh well - Louisa realised she'd just have to try and make sure he didn't do or say anything stupid. But if she knew her Martin, she'd say he was pleased. He barely reacted when Peter had called him by his first name. Happy that everything had fallen into place, and she was back in her home village, she turned and rested her head on his shoulder until it was time for them to head down to the school.

xxx

The school hall was lit up very prettily, with Christmas lights strung around the hall and draped across the stage. Louisa had been down earlier in the week and helped to set up, but it was nice to see it all lit up in the evening. She'd deliberately made her excuses and slipped out before the children began rehearsing, so that she would be able to see the whole thing for the first time tonight. They'd arrived in good time so that they could get seats at the front. The children were all sitting on stage blocks at the side of the school, so she scoured the different groups until she located Amy and Alice, who were staring her way and trying to catch her attention. James and Debbie were going to the next showing the following evening, so that they would have somebody to watch them the both nights. Alice was wildly gesturing at Martin, who was meticulously reading the program. She poked him and he jumped, annoyed, before she pointed him in the direction of his giggling granddaughters. Giggling was such a female trait. He'd almost forgiven the irritating girls stationed around the surgery (though not quite) when he'd realised that even Louisa was guilty of laughing at him on a regular basis. And he supposed that they had grown into quite respectable adults - one was the new headmistress, and would be striding onto the stage right about now.

'Hello everyone, and welcome to Portwenn Primary's annual Christmas nativity!'

Martin had never really been fond of school nativities – was there no other story related to Christmas that they could tell? But this one had been very well planned with a modern slant on it, so was more enjoyable than some.

However, forty five minutes into the production Martin began to feel uneasy. Louisa turned to poke him again, as Amy was just beginning her angel dance and as far as she could see Martin's attention was firmly fixed elsewhere – but she stopped at the look on his face.

'Are you alright?'

_Damn_. The angels had now moved across the stage and were continuing their dance in the centre – obscuring the rest of the cast. He turned to his left and urgently whispered to his daughter. He didn't want to spoil the show for no good reason.

'Joan, switch seats with Peter.' Joan looked puzzled but knew that her dad wasn't one to do things for no good reason. When Peter arrived beside him he hastily began whispering impatiently.

'... second donkey from the right I think, right at the back... couldn't be sure because they're all on their hands and knees.' Martin was realising that there was no choice but to intervene, when the angels parted into two lines and they caught sight of the child again, unmistakably choking. Peter immediately rose from his chair and rushed to the side of the stage. A quick word was had with one of the teachers, and Peter dashed behind the stage. As the boy was right at the back, he picked him up and carried him quickly from the room, followed by one of the teachers. The assembled parents began muttering, and the parents of the child could be seen disappearing into the door behind the stage. However, the children performing had seen none of the disturbance, and the angels completed their dance. The fellow donkeys were perturbed when Dr Cronk took their friend away, but at a motion from Mrs King, they stopped talking and stood to join in for the final song.

Martin had filled Louisa in on the details and soon she was gripping his hand in worry. In years gone by they would both have been in the room and would know exactly what was going on. Now they were just as clueless as any other parent or grandparent in the hall, and she hoped that Billy was okay. She relaxed only when the final applause was being given, and she saw the door open as he was led home by his parents. Peter returned to his seat calmly, as if nothing had happened.

After a minute or so they were still applauding – for the children, for themselves for turning up, for the other teachers, for the assistant teachers, the computer technician, the school choir, and in Martin's eyes everyone else who had ever had any connection with Portwenn Primary since it was built, then another applause for the children, and then finally they stopped.

Then the head stepped up to make another announcement, and Martin groaned under his breath.

'Now, I'm sure you all realised during this evening's show that there was a minor disturbance, which all of the children dealt with like true professionals. Unfortunately, one of the children had a choking incident, and has had to go home. I'm sure you'd all like to join us in thanking Dr Cronk and Dr Ellingham for spotting and dealing with the situation, potentially saving Billy's life.'

The room erupted into applause yet again around them. _Thank God I'm in the front row, _Martin and Peter thought simultaneously, both looking determinedly straight ahead. But the head hadn't finished yet.

'And I'm sure you'd also like to join me in congratulating the whole family on the recent engagement of Dr Cronk and Joan Ellingham!'

More applause. Was it never going to end?

'How on earth did she know that?' Martin asked Louisa incredulously.

'Engagement ring Martin, that's Portwenn for you. They beat our record anyway, we managed to keep it secret for twelve whole hours.'

As the applause finally died away and the children began to file out, the head winked at them and said 'Nice one, Doc!'

No_. _He decided that he most definitely hadn't forgiven her yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Chapter Five

'It was a good day, wasn't it Martin?'

'Mm,' Martin remarked, though Louisa could see that he was more preoccupied with shifting himself from the wheelchair to the bed.

It was Christmas Day. They had awoken early and had been picked up by James, and had spent the day at his house in Truro. After having five children their family house was understandably quite large, but there was still barely room to accommodate everybody. Besides Martin, Louisa, Joan, Charlie and Peter, two of Debbie's sisters, their kids and her parents had come to visit too. There was definitely no room around the dining table, but the children were delighted to have their own table brought in from the garden.

After a wonderful Christmas dinner, they headed into the sitting room. A television special of some sort was showing, but nobody was watching it. The children were sprawled across the carpet, playing with their new toys. Little Jamie had received a new scooter. After giving it a cursory glance, he decided that the box was much more entertaining, and was currently wriggling through it commando style. The rest of the day passed in a blur of deafening noise and action. The younger children had found a pillow from somewhere and were thumping down the stairs on it. This game was short lived, as one hyper coca cola and chocolate fuelled child threw up on the carpet. Then the karaoke machine had been brought out. Between the squabbling, Louisa had got into the swing of things (Martin assumed it was probably something to do with the Baileys) and he strained to hear her over the racket, as he knew that she had a lovely singing voice. He himself had refused point blank to have a turn. He'd never really got into singing; he preferred to listen to music without lyrics.

Martin looked up in anticipation as he heard Jamie howl with pain for the third time that evening, having this time banged heads with one of the other toddlers in the room. As far as Jamie was concerned, Grandma gave very nice cuddles and was provider of sweeties, but Granddad Martin was the best at rubbing things better when they hurt, it was family tradition. Martin had read studies on pain and the nervous system, and so he knew why rubbing made things feel better and he knew how to do it properly.

This time the wailing continued much longer than the previous times – clearly Jamie was tired. After delivering the initial rub, he carried on absent-mindedly stroking his grandson's head until the sobs subsided.

Ten minutes later the sounds of breaking glass came from the kitchen, followed by the sounds of the vacuum over the rest of the din. Martin looked over at Louisa and gave her a meaningful look. It was time to go. Louisa got up and spoke to James, who picked up his car keys. Martin began to steer his wheelchair out towards the hallway, where James and Louisa were waiting at the door. As he came into view, they began to laugh.

'What?'

'You've got a stowaway Martin,' Louisa remarked.

He followed her gaze to his lap, and saw Jamie, who he'd long forgotten, and who had fallen asleep.

xxx

Louisa climbed into bed beside Martin before leaning over to retrieve his present from the drawer in the bedside table. Turning with it, she saw that hers from him was already lying on the duvet beside her. They had decided to leave their gifts for each other until this evening, because the day would be so hectic – and it certainly had been. Martin thought that Christmas was alright because Louisa enjoyed herself and they got to see the whole family, but he preferred to have them in small groups, for a few hours at a time, and preferably not on their most hyper day of the year.

Opening his book shaped present, he found a new book on disorders of the various glands, and their effect on hormone production. Louisa had had nearly forty years to become familiar with his reading material, and now she knew pretty much what he would like and what he wouldn't be interested in (not much, but she'd discovered that gynaecology didn't really appeal to him – which surprised her considering his fascination with all of the other female biological functions). After all these years he had become pretty hard to buy for, so she normally just resorted to books or clothes. She'd also chosen for him some new ties.

Martin had as usual enlisted the help of Pauline. His Aunt Joan had always been good at advising him on such matters, but since she was gone he'd turned to the only other female influence in his life. Pauline often found very nice things in gauzy colours. He'd then opt for a duller colour, and they'd argue for a while before settling for something in the middle, which often was very much to Louisa's taste. This year she unwrapped a deep purple scarf and matching silvery amethyst bracelet.

Very appreciative of her presents as was he, she cuddled into his safe, warm presence and they talked for a while about the events of the day. When she caught herself beginning to yawn, she got out of bed and began to pile things up on the chest of drawers to sort through tomorrow, collecting up the scattered paper and putting it in the bin. On the way back she tripped and fell into the bedpost, letting out a squeal.

'Ow, ow, ow , ow, ow.' She headed back to the bed and examined the spot on her thigh, where an almighty bruise was already beginning to form and the skin had been scraped slightly.

'Are you okay?' Martin said, looking at her in concern.

'Yeah, fine. It's nothing, just-' Her words were cut off and she jumped as the bedroom door flew open, and she hurried to pull down the hem of her nightie.

'Oh, god, it's only you Joe.' He looked at her sternly.

'Sorry - PC Penhale. Had a good Christmas?'

'I heard a noise.'

'Yes, sorry about that - just me, I crashed into the bedpost.'

'Where did they go? Through here?' He headed quickly through the room into their bathroom.

Martin rolled his eyes.

'Penhale, get out of there and get lost. Now.'

'Martin!' Louisa glared at him as Joe retreated from their bathroom, muttering.

'Can never be too careful, Doc. Always on the lookout. Got to be cautious. Come by the station tomorrow and we'll file the report. I'll have him by Friday.'

Then the familiar figure of Pauline arrived, silhouetted in the doorway.

'Joe, what are you doing in here?'

'That's PC Penhale you know, and I can't divulge confidential information. The Doc's on the scene now, we'll take care of it. The dynamic duo...' they heard him reciting procedures as the footsteps died away.

Their bedroom door closed and Louisa turned on Martin, a heavy sadness in her eyes.

'What the hell was all that about, Martin? You know he can't help it, just humour him.'

Much as Martin always hated to admit it – Penhale had been right all those years ago – sort of. He had been one of Martin's last patients before he stopped practising, and was soon after diagnosed with dementia. Over the past twenty years, his condition had become steadily worse, until he was almost entirely living in the past. Mostly the other residents in the home simply chose to nod and agree with his mutterings. Martin chose to ignore him – as he always had.

'Louisa, I'm not treating him any differently at all. He's got dementia all right, but he's just living in a different time to the rest of us, the rest is just Penhale being Penhale. You've got to admit, he was overreacting and over dramatising everything forty years ago. He hasn't changed; he's just lost a few marbles. That's if he had any to begin with...' he muttered the last line under his breath, but several seconds later Louisa had pointedly turned away and turned out the light.

'Louisa?'

She didn't speak to him again until noon the next day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures **

Chapter Six

'What!'

'1st of February.'

'February?'

'Joan said, and I quote, she doesn't want to look like an elephant in the wedding photos.'

'But that's only-'

'I know.' Louisa dropped her airy demeanour and looked Martin in the eye, serious now. 'It'll be okay, Martin. I know it didn't work out for us, but we'd barely been on our first date when you proposed. We didn't communicate enough – how can you possibly get to know one another in that amount of depth in three weeks? We weren't properly even together at the time and we were looking for a short term solution to a long term problem. You do have to persevere at these things to make them work. But let's face it – they're effectively married already.' She laid her hand on his arm in the way that she knew reassured him. 'All they'll be doing next month is making it official.'

Martin sighed. He knew that Louisa was making perfect sense – they'd been together for twelve years after all. If he was brutally honest, everything was just all going way too fast for him to get used to. Within two months of discovering that his daughter was having a baby of her own, in a condition that he could not help her with, he had to hand her over to somebody else. And he wasn't quite sure he was ready to deal with that just yet.

xxx

Joan had come over alone. For the past week she'd been calling or visiting every day to have long in depth wedding discussions with Louisa. Martin wondered if Peter was missing his fiancée – he himself would certainly be glad once the wedding was over and he could have Louisa back and talking about something other than table settings and caterers. Large and Large catering firm were much more professional since Bert had been laid to rest at the age of seventy (friend to everyone, his funeral had been attended by more than could fit into the church. Louisa had been devastated, and Martin had had his comforting skills pushed to the boundaries to provide a shoulder for her to cry on for weeks afterwards. Never had he had to fight his natural tactlessness so hard since). The company were much less likely to push services upon you in the supermarket, and also much less likely to give you food poisoning. Now efficiently run by Francine, Al and Pauline's only child, they were the biggest catering firm in Portwenn and the surrounding area. They owned a large modern restaurant in Truro, but the small, rustic old terrace with sea views was still thriving with business from the nostalgic locals.

This had all been discussed and decided upon yesterday, but today the subject matter was much more tedious – wedding dresses and flowers. Martin had brought out a heavy and intense looking book to lose himself in – but it was soon discarded, unopened, on a nearby table when Louisa brought out their old wedding album for point of reference. A classic, simple cream leather album, it was one of her most treasured possessions. The first page had an image of Martin and Louisa stood outside the church. Martin was stood straight and proud, with a faint smile of happiness and relief on his face. Louisa was stood next to him, smiling happily and holding five month old Charlie in her arms. He had yet to grow any hair and was looking comically unimpressed. Underneath was inked in gold their names and wedding date.

'That's a nice photo and all Mum, but Charlie's completely blocking the view. Get to one where you can see the dress properly.'

Now absorbed, Louisa turned the page, and arrived to the first snapshot of the ceremony. This was one of Martin's favourites, as it was taken by somebody sitting right at the front, and so showed the first view of Louisa that he'd seen as she'd entered the church on her father's arm. It had been a beautifully sunny day for January, and for a minute or so the sunlight had shone on her from behind, illuminating the edges of her elegant up do and creating a golden halo effect. Dressed entirely in white as she was, she looked perfectly angelic with the beautiful Cornish scenery behind her until the heavy church doors were closed against the winter cold.

The dress had a tight bodice which flowed gently outwards into white folds just below her knees. Her neck, shoulders and arms remained bare, apart from a thin gold chain with a small piece of amber resting in the hollow of her throat. A pale gold band of satin edged the top of the dress, the only embellishment on the otherwise pure white gown.

'Hmm. Not sure about that really. I'd like something floor length, you know? And I saw some lovely beading on a dress in Truro, I'd like a beaded bodice perhaps. You looked beautiful, Mum. But it's so outdated – straps are more in this season. Plus I'm already putting a bit of weight on; I don't really want anything clinched at the waist... you were right not to go for a veil with that hair though – what accessory did you have in the back again? Yeah, that's not too bad...'

Louisa was pretty helpless here. God forbid she tried to advise her fashion-conscious daughter on anything clothes related, as the suggestions were invariably thrown back at her. Luckily, Joan had learned some tact at university as by the time she left home, Louisa was practically tearing her hair out. There was a definite trait come direct from Martin's line – Louisa was much more likely to go down the convenient lie route. There had been goodness knows how many clothing related battles between Joan and Martin during the teenage years, which generally left both of them angry since the arguments were rarely won by either.

Louisa hadn't been able to help her love of 1950's style wedding dresses, but aside from that she'd tried to make her dress distinctive from the disaster one of 2007, which a fair few of the village had seen during her wandering the village when she should have been in the church. It had since been given to charity. That day had been referred to by many in the village as the 'non-wedding' but those close to Martin and Louisa refused to acknowledge it as a wedding at all, and the couple themselves tried not to dwell on that period. The terrible day on the hill was as far from Martin's thoughts as possible as the entire congregation paled into insignificance around the beauty that was walking delicately up the aisle towards him.

Louisa on the other hand preferred the next photo. They'd not wanted the fuss of a professional photographer, so they had simply invited the villagers to take their own photos of the ceremony and reception. This suited everyone well, as the villagers were delighted to have a memento of the intriguing event – interest was even higher this time as they had already deserted the first wedding. Martin had at first been dead set against the idea, but they were both glad about the outcome as they had lots of nice photos from various perspectives of the guests, and gave their album a less artificial feel.

The photo in question was a close up of Martin at the altar. If she remembered correctly, that one was taken by Mrs Tishell who had an excellent view of the front from her position at the organ. Louisa had a fair idea of the chemist's feelings about Martin – she wasn't blind, after all. But recently Martin had referred her to a tall, dark physiotherapist named Tony, and visits to the surgery had dramatically decreased.

Martin in the photo was gazing downwards, his face open, all inhibitions gone as a smile flickered across his mouth and up to his eyes. Louisa herself was not in the photo but could remember exactly how she had felt at that moment, lost deep in his eyes and the large hands which were at that moment gripping hers so gently, yet securely. As she repeated the vows she had been longing to for so long, she suddenly felt a wave of emotion wash over her.

'... until death do us part.'

She was glad that her turn was over, as she felt sure that her voice would give away the tears that were threatening to spill. She needn't have worried – for if she'd had eyes for anyone but her new husband, she could have turned and seen Joan overcome by them – and the evidence of this was to be shown on the next page of the album.

Then the words she had been waiting for. Finally resigning herself to the fact that her makeup _was _about to run, she reached up and took his head in her hands as he pushed back the curly dark tendrils that were framing her face. There was a moment of shared joy as he took in how beautiful she looked, even with tears cascading down her face, and then they leaned in for the most perfect kiss that either had so far experienced. Here was taken by Roger Fenn the perfect photo – having given up his father of the bride duties to Terry, he had been given the task of best man instead by Louisa (Martin had no particular interest in being best man, but Louisa felt that as such a close family friend to all of them he should accompany them to the altar). Their arms entwined, the deep black of Martin's tuxedo contrasted perfectly against her pure white dress, and for a few seconds after the kiss had ended they remained locked together. As the church erupted in applause, she rested her head against his shoulder and he held her tenderly to him, making for yet another treasured memory. They broke apart, her hand clutched his and they made their way back down the aisle.

Thirty seven years later, the same two hands were clasped as their owners resurfaced from where they had been lost in memory. Their daughter was still muttering, but answering her own questions, which was useful seeing as neither Martin nor Louisa had been listening. Before turning the page again to delve into more snapshots of the past and relive their reception, Louisa squeezed his hand as they shared a secret smile, knowing that no memory left in the album could provoke a response so intense as the one they had just shared...


	7. Chapter 7

**First of all, I'm really sorry I've kept you waiting this long!**

Chapter Seven

A few weeks had passed and finally everything had been taken care of. The dress had been fitted, the church and hall had been hired, flowers arranged, invitations sent, and Louisa had bought herself a new outfit and Martin a new tie.

Now the wedding was only twelve hours away, and Martin was full of a jumble of emotions. Unbelievably for his eighty five years, this was a new experience for him. He could switch from one to the other fairly quickly, but when he felt something it was as if it took over his entire being, and there was no room for anything else. His childhood had been perpetuated almost entirely by misery and despair – the misery of the bullying he suffered at the hands of everyone around him and despair that there was nothing he could do to make things right. Those feelings were cast off each summer by what felt like eternal happiness as he stepped off the train and was enveloped in the warm, loving presence of his aunt.

Upon growing older, Martin left home and broke away from those who had caused him such anguish, building for himself an air of respect yet indifference from those around him. He was eager to prove to those around him that he was no longer the needy child that they had known. Loving though she had always been, he cringed when Joan had teased him about his childhood bedwetting and other things which he was keen to forget – so he distanced himself from her too as the years went on. No longer was emotional contact necessary as part of his everyday life. Edith for a short while took care of his physical needs but there was to be no true connection in the relationship between the two professional, clinical young students. Rarely did he feel strongly about anything – and when he did, it was almost always anger.

That all changed on the fateful day on which he returned to Cornwall after so many years. Suddenly he was all over again encouraged to feel love – by his aunt, who inspired the same old alternation between love and exasperation – and now by Louisa. Suddenly, he was being encouraged to partake in intimate and loving situations which he would happily comply with, and then ruin in the heat of the moment. His passion almost instantly would turn to confusion when she tried to explain how she was feeling love, and frustration, and upset, all at the same time, and all with him. He failed to comprehend just how he was inspiring so many feelings in her at the same time – but now he understood.

He lay there in bed, kept awake as all of the thoughts and feelings rushed through his mind, repeating frequently but so quickly that it was hard to identify them as they went past and new worries and possibilities opened up to him all the time.

First there was the base – his overwhelming love for Joan, his only daughter who he had seen through every stage of her life. Her adolescent years hadn't been the best and he'd had endless rows which he'd later regretted – much like the ones he'd had with Louisa, they were stupid, tiny things that were just so trivial. But just like her mother, she'd forgiven him and loved him anyway, despite what he felt were important shortcomings.

And then on top of that there was the urge to protect her, to take her away from Peter and wrap her up somewhere where he could keep her close and made sure that nothing and no-one could ever hurt her.

There was the fear that something could go horribly, dreadfully wrong. He'd seen it several times – both in his surgeon's life and as a GP. Perfectly healthy women who had gone on to develop life threatening conditions as a result of an unpredictable, yet also unpreventable disaster. One of them had even... no. He couldn't even consider that outcome.

Then there was the possibility that something could happen to the child. He had no idea of the statistics of miscarriage and stillbirth, but he knew that their combined percentages were hardly low. Joan would be heartbroken... and he was not sure how he could cope with that, how he could help her to cope with that...

Then there was anger, anger at Peter, even at Joan to an extent. If this hadn't happened he wouldn't have to worry about such things.

Then there came guilt, guilt for being so selfish, because it was his daughter's life, not his, and what right did he have to wish her child away, just on the basis of the risk that something may go wrong? What right did he have to wish away such joy?

Then there was his common sense kicking in – the common sense that knew that it was too late for any of that, that she needed to be let go and that if he was too overprotective than her headstrong ways would drive her away from him, and he'd lose her altogether. Being realistic, there was probably no better place for her than to be married, married to the father of her child, who would give her all of the love and comfort she needed. Peter, who was a doctor – she'd be living with a doctor, he reassured himself, who he was sure would take no risks with Joan's health. And if something did come up, she'd be much better with Peter who was practising, who had a working set of legs and who was much more likely to be taken seriously in an emergency.

Then finally, the grief hit him as he realised that all he was to her, everything he possibly could have given Joan was redundant, because Peter had it all. Peter had taken over that role; he was the most important man in her life now. He'd done his part, he'd had his day, and he'd raised her as best he could. And now he had to step back and give her away.

Suddenly, the thoughts lessened as he opened his eyes. The lamp on Louisa's side had been turned on, and as his eyes got used to the light her face slowly came into focus above his.

'Are you alright?'

It was only then that he realised that his body and face were damp from sweat and something else – could it be...? As Louisa helped him to sit up she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and lay her head on one of them, allowing him to turn his head towards her as his tears fell onto her head. Having observed his mood, seen his glances at Joan and heard tell tale hints in conversation, Louisa had a fair idea of the turmoil that her husband was going through.

'She'll be fine. She will. I was fine, wasn't I? You made sure of it. Peter is a good man, he loves our Joan and he won't let anything happen to her. She'll be fine...'

She carried on in that vein, speaking to him in the way she used to with her children when waking up after a nightmare. Stroking his shoulder, she carried on speaking in her soft, soothing voice, repeating that phrase until it began to make sense to him. Exhausted from lack of sleep and the unexpected emotional ordeal, he lay back against the pillows.

'She'll be fine...' he muttered, before succumbing to sleep.

xxx

The next morning however, the jitters had returned. This, added to the fact that he'd only had about four hours sleep, made him very irritable and clumsy. As they awoke and began going about their morning routine, Louisa kept shooting concerned glances in his direction. Looking over at the familiar, grouchy Martin that she knew and loved, she wondered if it had all been a dream. No, it couldn't have been. He was still slightly hot when they woke that morning – she hoped that the nerves were all that was wrong, and that he wasn't coming down with something.

At nine a.m. there was a knock at their door and Joan bounded in, looking the picture of health. She'd clearly slept well and wasn't remotely fazed at the prospect of the day ahead. Not wanting to break from tradition, she had spent the night in the visitor's room of the retirement home, so that Peter wouldn't see her before she arrived at the church. Hauling in the large cream box containing her wedding dress, she placed it on the floor of their room before dashing back down to collect the rest of her things. Ten minutes later Martin was being presented with one of his favourite books by Louisa and banished to the lounge.

'Just make sure you eat something,' he grumbled to Joan as he wheeled himself out of the door.

'We will,' Louisa reassured him before closing the door behind him. Turning back to her daughter, she delighted in her full on Mother-of-the-Bride duties. She'd been looking forward to this day for weeks, and ever since she'd seen the photo of Joan at the bridal shop she'd been dying to see the dress in three dimensions.

Martin began to despair after a while. He thought that after thirty eight years of living with Louisa he was used to women's dressing habits, but seemingly not. After they'd been up there for three hours he was just about ready to tear his hair out, when Louisa entered through the door in front of him. He blinked. She was dressed in a lilac floral dress with matching cardigan, and had let her hair loose for once. He was again taken aback by her gentle beauty.

'You look beautiful.'

It had taken a lot of training over the years, but Louisa had eventually coaxed Martin out of his shell slightly, so that he actually voiced what was in his head instead of simply staring unnervingly at her.

'Save your compliments, Joan will be down in a minute. She looks perfect, Martin, so grown up.' Despite her self-assurance, Louisa felt compelled to let the happy tears shine through for a minute as Joan finally entered the room with a twirl.

Louisa had been right, Martin realised. Here, he was truly lost for words as he stared speechlessly at his daughter. He was seeing her in an entirely new light. Whatever her age, whatever she wore, he always saw in the corner of his mind the small, dark haired child in the pink dress playing in the sand, picking daisies in the park, begging her mother for a piggyback.

Today the child was banished, playing happily in the past, transformed into the elegant woman in front of him. She was wearing a pure white floor length dress with a wide neckline which just skimmed her shoulders. Layers of fabric under the skirt made it spread around her feet and swirl about her legs in a swish of beading as she walked. Gathered under her bust, the dress just skimmed the evidence of her pregnancy, which Martin had not noticed under her usual jeans-and-jacket attire. Her hair had been gathered into an elaborate array of curls and knots, upon which was perched a small silver tiara.

After absorbing in her breathtaking appearance, he focussed on her large green eyes, which still held the mischievous sparkle of her childhood, and which were looking at him for approval as she grinned at him. Her infectious happiness caused something to rise inside of him, enabling him to whole-heartedly return her broad smile. He beckoned her towards him and she obliged, crouching beside him and allowing him to stroke her face and whisper to her.

'You really are perfect.' And he finally gave in to the tears prickling his eyes. She returned his whisper.

'Just because I'm getting married, doesn't mean you get out of being my dad, you know.'

She planted a kiss on his cheek and then straightened up.

'You'd better get ready, Dad. The car will be here in an hour or so.'

Martin wheeled himself over to the door where Louisa was waiting. They watched as Joan flitted about the room to oblige the nosy residents, laughing and chatting and clearly loving all of the attention. Louisa was amused, reminded suddenly of Pauline on her and Al's wedding day.

'Where the hell did she get that from?' she muttered to Martin, who was also marvelling at their daughter's brazen self confidence.

'Probably my father. Luckily she had your genes to balance her out.'

'Hmm.' Casting a last look back, they headed back up to their room, which was absolute chaos.

xxx

The next two hours passed in a blur, and suddenly the moment had arrived. Martin was waiting beside Joan in a side room of the church when the vicar burst in.

'Okay, ready to go? Great. If you'll proceed to the main doors, we'll be starting in just a sec!'

Martin was somewhat reassured by the vicar's enthusiasm. Joan squeezed his hand and he gripped hers back. Taking position behind the large wooden doors, they heard the beginnings of the familiar wedding march played on the organ, by the now long lived, wispy haired Mrs Tishell.

As the doors opened and the congregation turned to face them, Martin placed his hand on Joan's back as he felt hers on his shoulder. There was a whirr as he directed his wheelchair forwards and she stepped up the aisle beside him towards the altar, where Peter was stood, mesmerised by his fiancée as Martin had been so many years ago. He could feel her steps, each seeming to be part of an endless countdown to the inevitable.

Too soon, her steps stopped. The music ceased. He braked. They had arrived. He removed his hand from her back and took her soft, slight hand in his for a moment, treasuring the feeling. Then he felt the hard engagement ring against his fingers. He met the eyes of Louisa, followed by Peter's, and finally Joan's, as she smiled sadly at him. The last ever smile of Joan Ellingham.

He took a deep breath, released her hand from his, and watched as it moved forward and linked with Peter's.

Ten minutes later, that same hand belonged to Mrs Joan Cronk.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Louisa lifted her coat in agitation for the third time, before dropping it back down on the bed.

'You know, if you put it on you wouldn't have to lift it up and you'd have one less place to look.' This idea was met with an icy glare.

'Thank you for that helpful suggestion, Martin. Where on God's earth are they? I know I put them in the tray, but they aren't there, so I obviously didn't put them there but I can't think where I would have put them otherwise, you know? And seriously, if I don't get them now then I'm going to be late and Joan will quite possibly kill me.'

'Remind me why you're going again?'

'Because I'm her mother, and that's what we do.'

'And remind me why I can't go?'

'Because you're her dad.'

'So?'

'Martin, it's a very personal thing. I loved-' Louisa paused for a second, a pained expression on her face.

'I loved my Dad even after what he did, but if he'd turned up at any of my baby scans I'd have felt a bit awkward.'

'But your dad was a public menace who couldn't have turned up anyway because he was in prison when you were pregnant. Both times, actually.'

Louisa paused for a minute and he saw the familiar painful storm brewing in her eyes. She spoke quietly, yet menacingly.

'Martin, you can either shut up and help me find my car keys or go away.'

Martin fell quiet, remembering too late the taboo surrounding any mention of Terry Glasson. Louisa had always been strangely defensive of her father – until his untimely and eventful death which had shocked and appalled the entire village, and cut clean any love that Louisa had left for him.

xxx

One summer morning in 2012, Martin had been dashing down the stairs with a squealing two year old Charlie in his arms when the doorbell rang. He paused, flustered for a minute, then carried on his course – his current mission was much more urgent. He cast his gaze wildly around through the wide doorways leading off the main hallway. Finally spotting the elusive potty in the kitchen – he expected Louisa had moved it there for multi-tasking purposes again – he triumphantly plonked his young son down on it. He saw his son relax and the panicked squealing stopped. Potty training Charlie had proved interesting to say the least – his small legs, erratic steps and uncoordinated fingers had yet to catch up with his need to succeed. Despite their positive reassurances, on the rare occasion that he had an accident there were always tears. Since Louisa had been tied up with the twins, it was frequently Martin who was expected to make the obstacle-laden sprints to wherever the potty had ended up.

'There you go. See, we got there in time, didn't we? Now, you just stay there a minute. I need to go and open the door. '

'Who's ringing the door?'

'I don't know. That's what I need to go and find out.'

At this exchange the doorbell rang yet again, more insistently this time. One of the infants upstairs began to cry and Louisa called downstairs tetchily.

'Martin, can you get that please?'

'One minute!' he called back, matching her tone. 'I'm coming!' he called to the blurred figure he could see through the glass panel of the front door. Did they really expect him to be in two places at once? He compromised. Scanning the kitchen briefly, he placed the dangling kettle lead on the counter and fastened the child-proof latch on the cupboard containing the cleaning supplies. Finding no other potential child hazards, he left his son to it and headed out to the hallway to answer the door.

His eyes immediately narrowed. Terry Glasson stood before him, looking him up and down and marvelling at the change that his daughter had brought about on the man, who was currently dressed in dishevelled pyjamas and hadn't yet shaved.

'Doc. Nice to see you.' Terry glanced up the stairs where the sounds of a now screaming child could be heard.

'Nightmares at that age aren't they? I remember when Louisa was that age, wouldn't sleep through at all. Sorry if I woke it, you must hate me right now, am I right?'

'Yes.' Martin snarled bitterly. That night the twins sleeping patterns had coordinated for a change, and Louisa had been enjoying some much needed sleep. Now they were both up, by the sounds of it.

'What you'll want to do – especially with two of them, blimey -'

'What do you want?' Martin was not about to take parenting lessons from Terry Glasson.

'I need to speak to Louisa.'

'In case it had escaped your attention, she's busy. Come back later.'

'I really need to speak to her now. Martin. I'm serious.'

'You've caused her enough stress in the past to last a lifetime, and right now she's occupied enough with two four month old babies. Both of which are screaming, and whom I should be helping her with. I repeat. This. Is not. The time.' He hissed these last few words.

He was broken off by Charlie, who was toddling into the hallway and calling for him.

'Daddy, I'm finished, and I wiped my bottom, and now I need my trousers.'

'What? Oh, God.' Seeing the state of his son and the tea towel that he was clutching, Martin groaned.

'Okay, give that here, give it to me.' He took the towel gingerly and dashed into the kitchen, chucking it into the washing machine. Then Charlie's t-shirt was stripped off and given the same treatment, leaving him standing naked and bemused in the hallway. Terry spoke to him gently.

'Hello. Your name's Charlie, isn't it?'

Shy by nature, Charlie remained rooted to the spot, and didn't answer. Martin appeared seconds later and glared at Terry.

'I told you to leave.'

Grasping Charlie under the arms and holding him at arm's length, he took him into the bathroom and dumped him in the bath. Luckily it was already run – he'd been due one anyway before all hell had broken loose. Terry had watched the whole thing from the front door, amused to see the pompous doctor in such a state of disarray. He saw that for now, this was a lost cause and decided that he probably would have more luck returning later that day. He was about to close the door when he heard his daughters voice calling from upstairs.

'Martin, where are the baby wipes? What have you done with them?'

'Kitchen table!'

'What did you put them there for? Where are the spare ones?'

'Downstairs bathroom!'

'Can you bring them up?'

'I'm a little preoccupied right now!'

'Martin, I'm elbow deep in baby poo, I can't leave James on the changing table or he'll fall off and I can't move him or it'll go everywhere!' She was bellowing to be heard over the noise of the crying, which only made the situation worse.

'Join the club!' They were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Clearly Louisa was stuck upstairs with James, who was still screaming blue murder – but Martin couldn't leave Charlie in the bath alone. With all the splashing and wriggling he liked to do, he could be under before Martin had left the bathroom. He was about to resign himself to the fact that he'd have to get Charlie out and hope there wasn't too much mess, when Terry stuck his head round the bathroom door, having heard the exchange.

'Doc. I'll take them up. Kitchen table, right?'

Martin was torn, but in the end it seemed the only sensible solution. After all, Terry would never intentionally cause Louisa any harm – and this was urgent. He couldn't do too much damage between the kitchen and the bedroom.

'Fine. But if she wants you to leave-'

'The very second she asks, I'll be back down them stairs. Trust me.'

'Okay, go. Kitchen table, second door on the left.'

xxx

Upstairs, Louisa was at her wits end. When the doorbell had gone, James had woken and started to cry, waking Joan too. Bleary eyed, she'd jumped out of bed and hurried into their nursery. They'd barely been fed two hours ago; surely they couldn't be hungry again? Checking on them both, she realised that James needed changing, and decided to tend to him and hope he'd go back to sleep when she sorted out Joan. But now the baby wipes had disappeared and she was well and truly stuck. Fighting back tears, she realised that the only logical solution was to re-fasten the foul nappy and go to get the wipes herself.

And then the door opened. She took a step backwards in shock as she stared into the eyes of her father, who had appeared in the doorway, smiling and holding a packet of baby wipes in his outstretched hand. For a moment it was as if they were the only two in the room, Louisa's open mouth and wide eyes giving away her complete astonishment – until James' wails registered with her subconscious. Snapping back into frazzled mother mode, she glared suspiciously at Terry, grabbed the offering of baby wipes and set about cleaning up her son. Strapping him back into a nappy, she sealed the offending article in a scented disposable bag and threw it into a small bin. She placed the baby back into his cot and headed into the bathroom next door to wash her hands. Then, heading back into the nursery, she picked up her daughter and took her out of the room. Hoping that James would stay settled for a while, she paced up and down the landing, kissing and stroking Joan while murmuring a steady stream of comforting words into the baby's ear. It seemed to work, and after about ten minutes of pacing Joan was fast asleep. She put her back into her cot and then tiptoed slowly out of the nursery, closing the door softly behind her where Terry was waiting, smiling at her. She motioned him downstairs and into the kitchen, closing the door behind them.

'Okay. What the HELL are you doing here?'

'Well, I could say I was here to see the grandkids, but you'd know I was lying. They're beautiful, by the way. Just like you.'

'Get off it, Dad. I look a complete state. For the record, I'm not usually this incompetent.'

'You're not a state. From what I could see, you dealt with the entire situation admirably. With you at that stage I was damn near close to chucking you out the window. And I didn't have twins. Or a toddler. Right handful they must be!'

'Well, they don't normally wake up so abruptly at the same time, normally we can separate them before one of them starts screaming and wakes the other up, because normally we don't have people who should know better ringing the doorbell at half seven in the morning!'

Terry held his hands up in surrender.

'I'm sorry. I don't know. I never get it right, do I?'

'No.'

'Can't believe I'm a grandad, though. I mean, look at you. You're all grown up.'

'It might have escaped your attention Dad, but I have been 'all grown up' for over twenty years now.'

'Yeah, but you know. Married. Three kids. All in three years. Your Charlie's grown since I last saw him and all, I barely recognised him.'

'That might possibly be because three months after he was born you were back inside.'

At that moment Martin entered the room, carrying a now-clean Charlie wrapped in a towel.

'Everything all right?'

'Yes, thank you Martin.'

'Just going to dress Charlie, then I'll clear that up. Then I need to get to the surgery – that is, if you're alright here?'

He glared at Terry. He'd heard much about Terry Glasson over the years, none of it good, and witnessed his hapless, dangerous schemes first hand. He was still far from understanding the relationship between Louisa and her father, but one thing he was sure of was that she found it hard to forget the distant past – and so still felt guilty for not remaining fully loyal to her dad. She'd had a loving upbringing and it was in her nature to respond to that. She no longer had full trust in him but Martin was still unsure about what Terry thought he could get out of her, especially at times like this when she was shattered and emotional. He knew that he had to tread carefully though – as Louisa seemed adamant that she was going to preserve the memory of the father she'd once known, even though Terry was no longer that man.

'Yeah, I think we'll be okay. The Health Visitor's due this morning anyway.'

She needed to find out what her father wanted – and fast. She wanted Martin out of earshot while they talked, but she wanted him in the house to back her up if necessary. She often experienced utter guilt when Terry showed up – which she knew was irrational, but she knew that he could take advantage of it.

'So, let's get to it. Why are you here and what do you want? What have you done?'

'You don't have much faith in me, do you?'

Louisa simply raised an eyebrow.

'It's a fair point I suppose. Look. I'm in a bit of a situation. A delivery that went wrong. Police turned up all suspicious, took it for testing.'

'What was it?'

'Can't tell you.'

'Dad. What were you delivering?'

'I don't know! I don't ask, they don't tell me. Makes it legal you see, if I don't know.'

'No it doesn't! You know full well it's probably something illegal, or you wouldn't be here.'

'Look, Louisa, I can deal with it. Nothing I can't handle. Got a good lawyer on my side, owes me a favour. They've got nothing on me, really.'

'So what's this got to do with me?'

'Well, I just don't want to draw any undue attention to myself.'

'Those don't really sound like the words of someone who's got the law on his side.'

'I'm telling you, Louisa, I'm innocent. I've done nothing. It's just the guy who the delivery was going to doesn't have it now the old Bill stuck their nose in. He's angry. Nothing I can't handle, mind. But he wants money, compensation for what he lost. Plus interest. And at this moment in time, I don't have it.'

'Dad, I hope you're not asking me to get involved in this farce. I know the people you deal with, and I'd hate to know the people you don't deal with.'

'I'm not asking for money, sweetheart. I can get money – eventually. Got it all worked out, all in here.' He tapped his head. 'But I just wondered if – you know – I could stay here for a bit, until I've got the money. Until it's blown over. I can't stay in London, they'll find me.'

'Are you seriously asking that question?'

'We're way away from anyone down here, no-one would know, and - '

'I am not having those people near me, my husband, or my children. I wouldn't even leave you alone with them. For God's sake, Dad! When are you going to realise that you can't beat the big boys at their own game? You're in too deep, you have no idea what you're dealing with, and I want you to leave. Now.'

The sheer desperation on Terry's face suddenly became evident.

'Louisa. You're right. I can't deal with this. If they catch me... they'll kill me, Louisa. I don't know what was in that package but it was big.'

Louisa's heart twisted painfully and her breath caught, before her face hardened.

'Even more reason for me to make sure you have_ nothing whatsoever _to do with my children. You hear me? Get out. Do not call me. Do not contact me. If you meant any of what you said earlier then for our sakes STAY AWAY from me and my family. Don't mention me, us, to anyone. Get out of our lives and make sure that none of your crooked mates_ ever_ comes calling. Because if one hair on the head of my kids is harmed because of you – I'll be the one you're running away from. MARTIN!'

Ten seconds later Martin was standing in the doorway, adjusting his tie as he came in ready for work.

'Terry is leaving now, and we won't be seeing him again. I'd like you to escort him out, please.'

'Louisa-'

'Promise me. Promise me that we'll never see you again.'

Terry looked defeated.

'I promise.'

He had already left his chair and was halfway through the front door when he felt Martin's hand on his shoulder.

'What the hell have you done?'

'I've done nothing. And even if I had, you won't be seeing me again. I'd never do anything to hurt her, you know.'

'Too late.' Martin spat the words.

'I know. Goodbye, Martin. Love her for me.'

Martin watched incredulously as Terry rounded the corner and left. Then he walked slowly back to the kitchen to find Louisa still staring at the spot where her father had been sitting, tears sparkling in her fiery eyes.

'How dare he. How dare he.'

Martin took her into his arms and felt her shaking all over. He held her there for what seemed like hours as she gripped him, as if her life depended on it.

'Please stay here today. Stay with us.'

'I'll stay as long as you need.'

He stayed there and held her until the unmistakeable sound of Charlie's cries came from the floor where he had been forgotten. Trying to clamber up onto a chair, he'd fallen and hit his head on the floor. Instantly Louisa sprang away from Martin as if she'd been burned, rushing to her fallen son to hug both of their cares away. From her position on the floor she looked up to see Martin standing over her, arms outstretched.

'Give him here, you go and get dressed. The babies will be due their feed soon, and you'll need to eat something too.'

He lifted Charlie from her unresisting arms and helped her up. Putting Charlie into his highchair where he could cause no more mischief, he began to chop up banana as Louisa wiped her eyes and left the room.

Four hours later, there was another knock at the door. Louisa was feeling much calmer now, though infuriated that the Health Visitor was an entire hour late, now. The twins feed had seemed ages ago and she'd hoped that Mrs Standford would be in good time so that they wouldn't act up while she was there. So long as it didn't take too long, she thought that they would just about last. Martin was changing Joan, Charlie was playing in his bedroom and the house had settled. Putting on her best public smile and determined not to show her resentment at people who couldn't show up on time, Louisa opened the door.

Mrs Standford was nowhere to be seen. In her place stood a young man wearing a leather jacket and shades – looking a tad pretentious in her opinion and certainly out of place in Portwenn – but then she supposed people had said the same about Martin when he'd arrived.

'Can I help you?'

'Where's Terry?'

His voice was matter of fact and friendly, his smile warm, but she knew that those sunglasses would hide a glacial stare. An icy hand twisted its way through her insides.

'W-what? Who?'

'Don't play games with me, love. I know Terry's here. Followed his car myself. Lost him for a bit – right escape artist that one – but found you eventually, Louisa.'

'I – I – I don't know any Terry. Martin!'

'I think you're lying to me. No need to be scared, darling. I just need to talk to him. Now just tell him to come out.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.' She tried to be firm, but her voice shook, and she felt like weeping.

'So you wouldn't recognise this, then?'

Her heart sunk. The stranger in black was holding up her father's wallet. The one she had bought him from her pocket money when she was thirteen. The one he'd used ever since, for twenty six years. The one, that if you turned to the back you'd find...

'This looks remarkably like you, you know.'

... the photo of Louisa, Martin and Charlie on her wedding day. The photo her Dad had taken with his old unreliable camera and the one he swore would replace the cracked baby photo of her that had lived there for years. Why on earth had she let him take it?

'So I'll just come in, if you don't mind.'

'MARTIN!' Louisa screamed her husband's name in sheer terror as the stocky man pushed violently past her and burst into the kitchen, the bathroom in turn. At her shriek, Martin appeared at the top of the stairs and tore down them towards the kitchen.

'Get the kids, get them out!'

At this point Louisa saw Mrs Standford heading up the path.

'Hello!' she spoke brightly. 'Sorry I'm a little late, it's-'

'Help!' Louisa ran up the stairs towards the nursery and quickly placed both twins into a Moses basket. The Health Visitor heard the commotion in the kitchen and ran up the stairs two at a time. Louisa passed her the Moses basket and ran into Charlie's room, sobbing as she gathered him into her arms and dashing down the stairs with him despite his cries of protest. Meeting Mrs Standford in the front garden, she strapped the children into the back of the car and backed it out of the driveway. With her foot poised above the accelerator, she dialled Penhale and prayed that his overzealous approach to policing would come in useful.

She wasn't disappointed. Ten minutes later an emergency dispatch had been deployed and five officers were piling out of the back of the police van. As they stormed the house, Louisa sat in her car with the Health Visitor and three bawling children, and cried for herself, for Martin who was still in there. Why, why had her Dad been so foolish? She'd always managed to forgive him before because she knew that he'd never intentionally hurt her in a million years. But here and now she realised that that wasn't enough. Intentional or not, his stupid antics had put her life in danger yet again, and now she had her kids to protect she could no longer stand for it. She'd go to the police, make statements, take a stand, and do whatever she had to do to get Terry Glasson out of her life once and for all.

As it turned out, that was unnecessary. As Martin was helped out of the house, bruised but alive, she received the news that after knocking him unconscious the intruder had ransacked the house and fled out the back door when he'd found nothing of interest. Aunty Joan's old farm – a fully fledged B and B since she'd passed away – was where they spent the next few agonising days, Louisa living in fear and jumping out of her skin when the doorbell rang. When they were able to return to their house – restored after the police had taken evidence – Martin fixed a chain latch to the door. Even so, Louisa refused to open it when she was in the house alone, and Martin swore that if Terry Glasson ever darkened their doorway again...

Two days later, the doorbell rang and as usual, Martin got up to answer it, to see PC Penhale standing on the other side of the door, an unusually grave expression on his face.

'We've found him.'

Martin's face also turned sombre as he recognised the implication in the constable's tone.

'I'll tell her.'

As the two men entered the sitting room, Louisa looked up from where she had been nursing Joan. She swallowed.

'He's gone, isn't he?'

'Um... yes.'

'Thank God.'

Louisa's face was ashen and she couldn't quite believe it. In the course of a week, this had happened. She was free of the worry, the shame, the terror that had plagued her these past few days, and for much of her lifetime. Yet still –still, she couldn't bear to think of him, her old Dad, her childhood hero – murdered. Penhale spoke up.

'I'm very sorry for your loss...' he remained standing there, to the anger of Martin.

'Penhale, what are you still doing here?'

'It's just – well, as Mr Glasson's only relative – I'm sorry, Louisa, but we need someone to identify the body.' Martin was scandalised.

'Do you have a single sensitive bone in your body, Penhale? Do you think it might not have been better to wait for a more appropriate moment? In any case, you have a village full of people who know well enough what the man looks like, any one of them could do it or I could do it, or lets be frank here – you could do it!'

'No.'

Martin spun on the spot, astonished.

'Sorry Martin. I have to. It's horrible and ghastly and there's nothing I'd like to do less in the world – but I have to know. I feel I can't let the kids out of my sight until I can be sure we won't have any more insalubrious visitors. I need to feel safe. I have to see him.'

So later that day, Martin allowed Louisa to grip his hand tightly as the covers were lifted and the battered face of Terry Glasson was exposed to the world. He watched her eyes glaze over, unseeing, that unfamiliar cloudy storm that would grow to be familiar whenever someone's tongue slipped, when she remembered the events of those terrible weeks. That stony glare which remained in place throughout the funeral, which was otherwise unattended save for Martin, Bert and Penhale who all recognised her need for closure. The storm broke that evening, when alone in their bedroom Louisa sobbed her heart out into Martin's chest for hours on end. She let all the pain and anguish flood out with the tears. By the next day, her eyes were again clear...

xxx

Louisa looked at him, knowing that he had relived the events as she had. She attempted to return to normality.

'Anyway, it's just one of those mother-daughter things.'

'I just don't see why either of us need to be there, Peter's going after all. He's a doctor.'

'Don't underestimate the value of an older woman being there, it was great when Joan was around when I was pregnant. It's all very well being married to a doctor but it's nice to have an experienced woman about, showing you perspective.'

'I'm sure the midwife is pretty experienced.'

'Come on Martin, stop arguing just for the sake of it. It's just one of those mother-daughter things that we like to do, like you used to build all that meticulous Lego stuff with Charlie. That was your father-son activity. Anyway, don't pretend you don't want me there, you'll be giving me the Spanish Inquisition when I get back.'

'True.'

Louisa exclaimed as she put her coat on and her car keys fell out from where they'd been caught on one of the buttons.

'Told you putting the coat on would work.'

Her head snapped round. Louisa looked at her husband and hadn't the heart to be annoyed. She ran over and bent down, and he looked into her beautiful, clear green eyes.

'You did. I love you, Martin.'

She paused briefly to kiss him gently on the lips, before dashing out the door.

'Wish us luck!'


	9. Chapter 9

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

**Author's note: This is a bit of a random chapter. Please accept a little suspension of disbelief at the immaculate state of Louisa's handbag in the television series. Yet again my mind kind of wandered in a random direction and I just kind of went with it – also it gave me a medium to explore Louisa's younger days. **

**Please also excuse my massive delays between chapters. I'll be updating much more frequently from now on now that I know where the story is going!**

Chapter Nine

'Louisa.'

Louisa grinned as she entered the day room and walked over to where Martin was sitting by the window, a spring in her step. As she'd parked her car she'd looked up to see a shadow of a face in that very window. And with closer observation, she could see that the old book resting on his lap was in fact upside down. He'd clearly been watching eagerly for her return as a child would. However, since he was so keen to feign emotional detachment, she'd humour him.

'Hello, Martin. Good afternoon?'

'Fine.'

'Been up to much?'

'Just reading. How was your – er – day?'

'Oh, it was pleasant. Most interesting.'

She took her time removing her coat and setting down her bag as she settled in the armchair next to him. Seeing that she wasn't going to volunteer any information, Martin sighed. She could be so exasperating at times – but he knew that when he gave in and broke the facade, she'd reward him with that broad smile and twinkle in her eyes that he found so endearing.

'Well, what happened? What's interesting?'

Louisa laughed as he inevitably caved in, and began telling him everything she could remember about their soon-to-be new grandchild in delight.

'Well, it's definitely not twins for a start, which she was relieved about given the family history even though they cleared it at her first scan.'

'Anything else? No apparent abnormalities?'

'No, it's perfect. And it's a girl!'

For the next twenty minutes she relived the experience, telling him all about it. He soon got around to asking questions of his own. She shouldn't have been surprised really. The poor midwife got the brunt of Peter's questioning and could barely keep up with him as he flitted from question to observation to references of old studies. Martin had been exactly the same during her baby scans – badgering people left right and centre about the most trivial differences. One day they got a particularly enthusiastic health professional and the appointment ended up taking twice as long as it should have done as they chattered away about her as if she weren't in the room. She felt like getting up, relieving her bladder and getting a cup of tea. She was sure they'd still be there when she returned.

Unfortunately she was no enthusiastic health professional. While the midwife could just about stand up against the flow of Peter's vast medical knowledge, Louisa was soon lost and just happily looked at the screen, unable to discern which questions were actually relevant to Joan at all. So Martin was clearly dissatisfied with her answer of 'She's fine, the baby's healthy, it's a good size, everything's fine.' He was soon on the phone to Peter and descended into an animated stream of medical waffle.

Happy herself with just the knowledge that everything was okay and the little photo she'd been given, Louisa now dug around in her bag to retrieve it. She was sure that Martin would soon be poring over it, checking every last measurement and cross referencing it with goodness knows what.

Or he would be, if she could find it. She quickly checked her pockets. Nope. She didn't have it when she left the hospital, so it must be somewhere in her bag. Eventually finding it, she dragged it out only to find that the back had some kind of soggy, sticky mess all over it. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she soon found the source of the problem – a tissue covered in diluted chocolate.

During a recent day out with James and family they'd come across a tiny new sweet shop in Newquay, who were giving out free chocolate samplers. Little Jamie had decided that the dark chilli chocolate he had been advised against taking was indeed not to his taste. Louisa had expertly caught the ejected dribbly chocolate in a tissue as it left Jamie's mouth. Holding a handful of purchases herself she could not exit the shop to find the bin and so had put it in her bag for a few minutes and promptly forgotten that it was there.

Placing her bag on the dashboard of her car as she drove home had caused the warm afternoon sun to melt said chocolate onto the various items at the bottom of her bag.

It was obviously time for another clear out.

xxx

Louisa's bag had had many clear outs, many adventures, many different contents and many replacements during her adult life, but she invariably returned to it.

**July 1980**

Terry Glasson headed back to his bedroom at two in the morning. It had been one hell of a day. He knew that May had been feeling trapped for a while – for about nine years, actually – since the day she'd suddenly decided not to have the abortion. He knew that she'd been torn over the decision, and he knew that if she'd had her way she'd never have left her daughter behind. But her old life, the life she still craved, was worlds apart from the stability that a child needed. Even so, couldn't she have stuck it out for just a few more years, until Louisa was old enough to understand that it wasn't her fault? He knew he wasn't exactly a model father, but he cursed May for the grief that she had inflicted on her child.

As he had come home to discover the half empty house, he knew with a heavy feeling that she was gone. The only thought on his mind had been how on earth he was supposed to tell his eight year old daughter. There had been tears, pleading, blaming, and begging him to pick up the phone and call May, call her back with endless promises that she'd do better, behave better, be a better person. Then she'd been put to bed. This was the second nightmare of the evening, and he'd rocked her as she sobbed, stroking her hair until she exhausted herself and fell asleep in his arms until he lowered her back onto the pillow.

Returning to his room, he finally had the opportunity to change and get into bed. He couldn't settle. Eventually his pillows became hot and uncomfortable, and he sat up to turn them over. Lying underneath them was a brown bag with a weave pattern – it looked much too modern for May's taste. Curiously, he opened it. Inside was a folded piece of paper.

_Terry,_

_I'm going to keep this short, because I know nothing I say will change how angry you must be with me right now. I had to leave. I couldn't stay in this tiny little village forever when the Lord provided us with such a beautiful wide world. I know you don't understand, but it was a calling. All I ask is that you take care of Louisa and make her understand that none of this was her fault. It was mine. I was never supposed to be blessed with such a wonderful, sensible daughter (how on earth did we manage that?) I know you think I'm selfish now, but I know that if I stay there any longer I'll begin to take it out on her. Let her just remember that her mum loved her._

_I struggled hard thinking of what I should leave here. Remember how little Louisa would always play dress up with my handbag? Every girl needs a bag of her own. Give this to Lou when she turns sixteen. She'll be a beauty! Again, I'm so sorry that I won't be there._

_May _

**November 1982**

Terry watched his daughter pack up her handbag with painstaking care. After about a minute of deliberation over two years ago, he had screwed up the naive letter and decided that May's wishes came far below Louisa's peace of mind. For attached to the zip on the bag was a small brown leather tag, into which a photo of Louisa with May had been inserted. Further investigation revealed her writing yet again on the back.

_Louisa,_

_Love forever_

_Mum x_

He himself found the message little comfort, but for his devastated young daughter it had provided some degree of reassurance – coming from the horse's mouth as it were. She guarded the bag with her life, and kept only her most precious possessions (charm bracelet, her pen and notebook, sweets, pocket money) in it. Every evening she unpacked it and placed it carefully in her bedroom cupboard.

**July 1989**

Louisa hugged her friend Alison as she prepared to leave. God, she admired Alison. Not for the whole getting pregnant at seventeen thing – that was daft and after twelve years of friendship she'd have thought Alison should have known better. But still, her friend had stood up to her parents, her friends, her boyfriend, the whole bloody village. Even though she was about to be shipped off to some place where she knew no-one, where she'd probably still be scorned by everyone, she'd stuck with her son. She showed him no resentment for the fact that her entire life had been changed. She cared for him and loved him and done everything in her power to make the best of the circumstances. Louisa hadn't joined in with the disapproval of the village because if she was brutally honest, she envied baby Tom.

It had been several years now since she had accepted what her father had told her – that her mother leaving wasn't her fault. But still there was a gap in her life, the vital gap that was missing from her confused adolescent life. She'd had to turn to Joan Norton for some kind of female guidance, since she was the only person she could think of who wouldn't patronise her or cast judgement over the family situation. Why go to the bother of having a child if you weren't planning to stick around until they were old enough to understand, at least? Her relationship with her father had slowly deteriorated as he'd put his stupid, dangerous plans above her needs yet again.

Saying goodbye to a girl who was going to face some serious obstacles and yet still looked at her baby as if he were the most precious thing to walk the earth – Louisa understood even less. As she arrived home on the anniversary of her mother's departure, Louisa took the scissors from the kitchen drawer and hacked the small brown leather tag from the zip of her bag. She watched as it landed in the bin, that happy, lying photo with the lying message.

Then she walked calmly to her bedroom, unpacked her make-up, mirror, keys and spare hair ties from the bag and placed it on her shelf, in her cupboard.

**September 1990**

Louisa bit her lip, excited yet nervous as the train pulled away from Portwenn Station. She was leaving. For the first time, she was leaving her father and all she had ever known behind. She fiddled anxiously with the strap on the brown leather bag before unzipping it and checking once again that she had everything of vital importance against the list there. She smiled at Danny, sitting next to her with his hand resting gently on her knee. No, she wasn't leaving behind everything. He'd come into her life just after her mum left. She was grateful for that – that she had something, someone from Portwenn for whom her memories were completely separate from those with her mother.

Hopefully in London they'd make some more memories. They were heading for different university courses and so probably wouldn't see each other so much, but surely a thing like that couldn't break them up? Her first love. She wasn't really sure yet what constituted love but whatever it was, it was nice. He nudged her and she nudged him back, smiling playfully. Yep, definitely nice.

'Got any mints in that famous brown bag of yours?' he asked. When he'd first visited her aged ten, she'd burst into tears when he tried to play with it and hadn't let her have it back. He hadn't let her forget it since. She'd not used it so much since her opinion of her mother had tarnished, but still she felt attached to it, like she was attached to the memories of how life was before May had left. The part of her that was her mother was missing, and this was the closest thing she had to fill the gap.

**December 1990**

It was Christmas morning. Louisa headed down the corridor of the student lodgings into Danny's room, which was really also her room and vice versa.

'Happy Christmas!'

He did a cheerful little dance across the room to kiss her and presented her with a package as she brought out a similarly brightly wrapped one from behind her back.

'Hey!' He immediately tore off the jumper he was wearing and replaced it with the new one she'd bought him. 'Mm, lovely and warm. Go on then, open yours!'

She tore off the top end of the paper. A long black leather strap fell out. The rest of the paper fell off to reveal a small bag handbag on the end of the strap. A small label on it revealed an expensive designer.

'Danny... wow.'

'Now, I know you've already got one but this is so much more practical. Long strap, so you can have it over your shoulder and you won't need to carry it, it's got three separate compartments, black goes with everything and it's got a little tag. You know, your old one broke.'

'Wow...' she couldn't think of anything else to say. 'It's lovely.' The small tag contained a photo of the two of them the week previously, in a pub somewhere. She had to admit that it was a nice photo, and it'd certainly be much more practical. Maybe it was time to let go.

**January 1991**

She couldn't. She couldn't take it. She hadn't used the old bag in Danny's company since Christmas, but this was her first day on her new teaching placement. She'd never done any actual teaching practise before and she was nervous. She couldn't forget anything. In the old one, everything had its place. Now she found herself making a list and checking things off as she placed them in.

She found herself walking into the classroom with the familiar brown bag on her arm. She was directed to the staffroom where the teachers were all putting their belongings in a communal cupboard. She left her things and went off to take the lesson she'd been timetabled for. She thanked the heavens that she was taking reception. They all became fairly sweet and compliant when story time came around, and she was careful to choose a fable with an obvious moral so they could discuss it afterwards. But her mind kept travelling back to the cupboard, the unlocked communal cupboard.

When she stepped out at the end of the fairly successful day with her bag untouched under her arm, she told herself off for being so wet. It was time to let go of her childish fantasies and get a grip.

The next day she came in with the new black leather slung across her chest. She caught up with Holly Williams, who seemed friendly and was from her course.

'Wow, _love_ the bag. Is it? Yes, it is! Must have cost a fortune, _so_ much nicer than your old one.'

Practical, admired, gift from Danny, looks nice and it didn't make her paranoid. As she set it down in the corner of her room that evening, she considered it a success.

**November 1994**

'Come on, Lou. It's nice. I get it. Great first placement, I mean it's a great school. Definitely a winner on the CV front. But you could earn a much better salary in London.'

'It's not all about salary, Danny. I love it here. So much... don't you remember it? So much character. London's just all... dreary.'

'It's not dreary, it's exciting! Things happen, you meet people, there are opportunities!'

'It's grey. Monochrome. Look out this window. How many different colours can you see? Too many to count, and they're forever changing, the sea, the sky, the hills. London's just the same old grey buildings on the same old grey paving slabs on the same old grey tarmac.'

'I get it. You're sentimental. I can see that, it's where you grew up. But don't you even love me enough to give it a go?'

'I gave it a go for four years, Danny!' But the wheels were working in her head. No. She didn't love him enough. Not in that way. That was it. He was great to be with. She couldn't imagine life without him and he was one of her oldest, greatest friends. But no. Not like that.

**December 1994**

That Christmas was Louisa's first alone. Her father had left the village before she had and so was no longer around. She hadn't heard from him in a while. Danny had got some job or other and apparently was doing well. She hadn't heard from him since that conversation a month ago, which had resulted in them breaking up. She'd cried at the loss of her friend. Not her boyfriend, not her lover, because to be honest Danny was too possessive and yet indecisive to build a stable relationship on. But her friend, the Danny Steel she'd met aged eight and had thought as a child she'd marry, she missed desperately.

On Christmas morning she opened an old surprise. She'd wrapped her old bag in paper during her time in university, packed it away in a box and not seen it for years. But she hadn't been able to throw the box away. Now she carefully pulled the package out of the box and uncovered her old prized possession.

She was glad that she'd distanced herself from it. She didn't worry so much. She didn't keep it clamped to her side. She could leave it on any old surface or in a corner without worrying about its wellbeing. No, it wasn't as practical or stylish as the black one, but it was soft, supple, shiny and familiar. Returning to her old bag was like returning to Portwenn after the dull, life that was London. Useful, but dull.

xxx

Over the course of the years the bag's contents changed. As a young teacher and headmistress, it contained pens, her phone, spare paper, memos, keys, and her standard organised detritus. She had standard clutch bags for special occasions, but day to day a familiar sight in the village was Louisa Glasson walking along with her bag swinging erratically from one hand, as much a part of her as her sunny smile or bouncing ponytail.

For a few years it was replaced by a large grey holdall which could be hung from the handles of the double buggy, containing everything from bottles, nappies, cream, Calpol, sweets, dummies to spare pants.

As the children grew, the old brown bag was dusted off and made its appearance around town again. Now filled also with tissues, small toys and various rubbish, she began to give it 'spring cleans' every few weeks.

Aged about four and going through a grown up stage, the handbag became an addition to Joan's princess get up, completed by fairy wings and pretend Barbie heels. Louisa began finding it in all manner of bizarre places including the cupboard containing the saucepans, behind the television and once in the downstairs toilet, which thankfully had been flushed beforehand.

It aged with her, battered and faded yet well made, the strap held firm and the zip working. The lining had been slightly torn in places but at this stage in her life it had served her well, and Louisa saw no point in using a new one.

xxx

As she unpacked the various clutter and wiped chocolate off the things she could salvage, she remembered doing much the same thing sixty seven years ago. She could still remember the image of her mother vaguely, thanks to that small tag which she'd looked at endlessly until her upset rage when she was seventeen. She rarely thought about the woman who'd given her life and who must have been dead for quite some time now. But now, being a mother and grandmother herself she almost pitied May Glasson in that she hadn't been able to experience the true joy of it.

Sighing, she repacked her important things into the bag and went out to find Martin, presenting him with the image of the baby Cronk. As she watched him, absorbed in his task, she thought about his mother. And suddenly felt lucky. All her life she'd been able to tell herself that it wasn't her fault – her parents had been adamant of this and showed that she had at least been loved as a child. Martin had grown without that cold comfort – the very opposite, in fact. She often wished she could have known her mother, whilst she had also often wished that Martin had never had the misfortune to meet his.

xxx

Joan as an adult had been told by Louisa both the story of the handbag, the story of her grandfather's demise and had got from her father a vague outline or his harrowing childhood. As she watched her mother tuck the scanned image into the infamous handbag before hugging her like she'd never let go, she silently thanked whatever force of nature that had somehow given her the best parents she could have hoped for. Swallowing a lump in her throat and looking down at the swelling that was her 20 week old baby girl, she only hoped that she could make her daughter feel as loved as Louisa was making her feel right now.


	10. Chapter 10

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Chapter Ten

Martin sat in the garden of High Trees, parked next to Louisa's favourite bench. Personally, he'd never been much of an outdoor person, despite the adventurous treks that his GP job had frequently taken him on. He'd prefer to sit by the window in the sun, reading without the glare of the sun on the white pages or the nuisance as they blew about in the wind.

But Louisa loved it out here in the garden. The lawns were kept neatly trimmed, the flower beds maintained and pretty. She loved the warmth of early summer, watching her grandchildren and those of various residents kicking balls around or playing 'It' – the simple pleasures she'd remembered from her own childhood. This bench gave a perfect view of it all, as well as the wide expanse of the sea.

Today though, she wasn't here. She'd driven to Truro with Joan for the day, shopping for a cot, a pram, car seat and various other paraphernalia that didn't leave space in the car for his wheelchair. Nevertheless, he'd sat down with them for half an hour before their departure and given his opinion of the best models based on safety, comfort and numerous other factors. Joan had added the notes he'd made to a similar pile given to her by Peter, who would have been with them had he not been called out on an urgent house call.

Tilting his head slightly to the right, he could no longer see the bench in his peripheral vision. Now she could be there with him, silently immersed in the summer day as always. Talkative though she was, she felt no need to constantly chatter away to him as she did in the company of others. In the early stages of their relationship, he'd almost lost her so many times through careless slips of the tongue, her gentle gaze unnerving him as he struggled to respond to her subtle steering towards small talk. He'd been determined that he was to make things work.

xxx

For a few weeks after Charlie's birth they'd both struggled through a period of sheer frustration. The pressures of raising a small yet demanding child combined with their opposing views on just about everything made for a relationship fraught with arguments. Martin added Louisa's post-natal hormone levels to the list of complications, though even he had the sense to keep that one to himself. Eventually one afternoon, Joan took the screaming, colicky bundle off of their hands and gave them the opportunity to make some noise of their own. They both were to cringe as they remembered that afternoon, at the way all emotions had come to a head as she'd screamed at him, and he'd responded with some fairly impressive volume of his own. Realising after a while the sheer pointlessness of the situation, Louisa had broken down at the realisation that they may just have ruined everything.

She had to give Martin credit for the way he'd simply accepted the turn of events, immediately turned off the sarcastic tone to his voice and held her as she cried. During a fairly teary conversation on her part, they'd eventually bonded over the one thing they had in common – the love and protective urges they felt for their young son. Though they were to have many more spats and rows over the years, never again would they torment themselves with such resentful ferocity.

After that, Louisa stopped trying to make him talk, explain himself, go over his feelings. It felt strange to be in a relationship where so little was said, but she soon realised that as a man of few words, he saw no point in pursuing idle chatter when their time could be spent in so much more interesting and intimate ways.

However, much as she learned that his quiet ways came naturally to him, she couldn't bring herself to accept them. She didn't mind at home during the day – she was often preoccupied looking after Charlie, who seemed to like to hear her talk and sing. Even Martin would talk to him, knowing how crucial it was to his development when all he heard as he travelled the village in the pram was gibberish. And she didn't mind when they were in the bedroom – she'd much rather his lips were planted firmly on hers than trying to make conversation. But when they were out, it just felt strange. They walked the village hand in hand, but trying to get conversation from him was like blood from a stone.

She soon realised that it wasn't working. This was driving her up the wall. They'd talk about Charlie, about his latest checkups, what he was eating, his height, his weight, but she needed just some escape from baby statistics. It wasn't like he couldn't be vocal when he wanted to – in fact excessively so according to his patients. And so one day, as they sat together on the sofa, she simply decided to confront him with it. Which led to one of the most meaningful and yet confusing revelations of her life. Martin was staying quiet because of her? Because of her threats in moments of hormonal hysteria?

To Martin, it made perfect sense. It didn't take a genius to make the connection between his blunt comments and their rows, her tears. As he'd observed before, whenever he spoke, it seemed to make things worse. She'd knocked this comment with contempt at the time, but as their relationship became ever more complicated he became more certain of the fact. As he'd lain on his bed after the fateful night at the concert, drifting in and out of consciousness and losing track of time, he'd wanted to kick himself. To turn back time, to take back that stupid remark. And yet still, he didn't learn. Looking back later, he felt ashamed at the way he'd overreacted during her pregnancy. He maintained that his opinions were valid, but did he really have to express them in such ways that could only make things worse?

He was used to quiet, anyway. As a child at home his parents hadn't spoken much. Their house was either quiet as a morgue, his father's bitter comments occasionally piercing the icy atmosphere, or lively and loud as his parents entertained in the sitting room. Unless he indulged his father's sense of self importance by enquiring about sports tournaments or medical procedures that he was to have no hope of understanding at such an age, he was to stay quiet.

At school he was intelligent – both from an academic and self-preservation perspective. His father had always encouraged him to speak out and show himself off, but he soon learned that the boarding schools Christopher Ellingham spoke of in his wistful, nostalgic tales were worlds apart from the one he attended. Or perhaps it was simply that he was worlds apart from his father. Either way, it was never a good idea among his peers to draw unwanted attention to himself. So he didn't.

Moving forward a few years, his domain was the operating theatre. He was in control. As he cut, sliced, manipulated and stitched the most delicate of blood vessels, he required the utmost quiet. Aside from the soft bleeping of nearby machines and his occasional muttered instructions, the room would be silent and you could hear a pin drop. He did not much like loud conventions and busy conferences that were a very interesting and necessary, yet meddlesome part of the job. He much preferred the serenity of the small room where his skilled fingers worked to fix and repair.

Now, in this noisy, intrusive village where you had to shout to make yourself heard above the moronic attitudes of people who always knew best, being with Louisa was a relief. With her, he could relax in the calm atmosphere of the home they shared. So long as Charlie was asleep, he added, with a rueful smile...

'Martin?'

He soon realised that in an ironic twist, he'd tailed off at the end of his in-depth explanation of his uncommunicative disposition – and fallen mute again. Yet Louisa was looking at him intently, a contented smile softening her face which had looked so tense at the beginning of the conversation.

'What?'

'That was all I wanted. For us to be able to sit here, the two of us, and have a conversation. No barriers. So I can know more about you, and vice versa. Like we just did.'

Conversation? Confrontation, more like. But just sat there in a neutral environment, the two of them on the sofa with no expectations... he'd just been able to talk and talk, and he was barely aware he'd been doing it.

xxx

After that few months, both of them felt much more comfortable in each other's company. Martin had learned after that afternoon that he was capable of holding conversations about things other than medicine. It didn't always go to plan – occasionally Martin would make some insensitive remark or other and earn a frosty glare, or Louisa would inadvertently chuckle at an unfortunate childhood mishap, causing him to clam up. But he soon realised how therapeutic it could be to get away from work for a while, to chat conversationally to someone who wasn't a medical colleague. Medicine frequently made an appearance of course, being such a big part of his life. He usually had to convert things in his head to Layman's terms before he spoke, but because in his enthusiasm he occasionally forgot – leading to her picking up some medical language too. He hadn't ever particularly specialised in paediatrics, but began taking a more active interest as Louisa could relate the common diseases and symptoms to things she saw in the playground and in her own children – it was always useful to know the signs to look out for.

Sometimes when they were both busy and Martin didn't feel like making conversational effort, he'd just sit quietly as he checked patient notes against various websites and journals, listening to the melodic sound of her voice as she changed or fed Charlie, or as she chattered happily away to him while preparing something to eat. Louisa no longer found his silence unnerving – she appreciated that he was listening, or at least pretending to listen for her sake. She sometimes zoned out whilst he was droning on about bacteria of the ileum or some other dull medical sub-topic, so accepted that he probably didn't much care about the latest staff room gossip.

Then there were the contented silences. The rare, peaceful times when they were able to sit together or wander down to the harbour with the sleeping baby in his pram, linked perhaps by joined hands or her head resting on his shoulder, but both lost in their own individual worlds of thought. Sometimes Martin would glance over to see a dreamy look on her face, or her brow furrowed, or her hair falling forward as she read. The glance invariably lingered to become a gaze, which would catch her attention and she would smile that beautiful smile, and he would remind himself yet again how lucky he was to be with her.

xxx

Refocusing and glancing across at the bench now, he remembered that she wasn't there, sighed and looked out to sea once more. Suddenly the silence was broken as he heard the trilling tone of his phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, he smiled as he saw Louisa's name and number on the screen.

'Hello?'

'Martin, I need your help, it's Joan. I think something's wrong.'

Martin froze.


	11. Chapter 11

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

**Again, please forgive me for taking so long to update, and for taking some artistic liberties with the medical facts :) **

Chapter Eleven

'Martin, I need your help, it's Joan. I think something's wrong.'

Martin froze, the warm day immediately seeming cold as a chill gripped him. Those words, those exact words, twisted his heart just as they had done on a similar summers day thirty six years ago.

**2012**

It had been the summer of 2012, one of the hottest on record. The days were scorching and Louisa was enjoying the fact that she was finally on holiday. She'd decided to be organised this year, and to her own amazement had managed to get most of the school administration done in the first three weeks of the holidays. It hadn't been too bad really. She'd set of a temporary base complete with desk and playpen in the reception classroom, which was well equipped with plenty of battered toys. The twins had recently begun rolling over and could make a sneaky escapade if she didn't keep an eye on them, so she'd installed them in the playpen with a selection of stuffed animals which had all been meticulously safety checked by Martin. Three year old Charlie was allowed to roam the classroom with the excitement of the playhouse and dressing up box.

This wasn't a particularly constructive work environment, but enabled Louisa to get some of the more repetitive tasks done whilst simultaneously keeping an eye on them all. She reasoned that she was keeping an eye on them, although she faced the fact that watching them all playing was much more amusing than the selection of school lunch forms she was signing off for the coming term. She was able to feel less guilty during her mid morning break. Sitting on a mat in the sunny playground, she could play with them to her hearts content. Charlie also enjoyed this part very much, as he had sole access to the sand tray which he usually had to share at nursery.

After another few hours of half working and half laughing, scolding, or sorting out problems, Louisa packed the kids into the car and drove them up to Joan's farm to have lunch. When Martin found himself with a lengthy lunch hour he drove up to join them too. Then she drove back alone to get some serious work done until five, whilst Joan had fun spoiling them for the afternoon.

Now though, the work was done and she faced the beginning of an enjoyable three week holiday. She tried to find interesting activities for them to pursue in the mornings with the twins in the double buggy and Charlie's toddler reins strapped securely to her wrist, but they inevitably ended up back at Joan's farm for the afternoon.

'Swimming!'

As the door was opened, Charlie briefly hugged his great aunt's legs before careering through the house and out the back door. Louisa left the double buggy with Joan before dashing after him. She caught him up in her arms about a metre away from the paddling pool in which Charlie was about to throw himself, fully clothed.

After a few plaintive cries he allowed himself to be taken by the hand and led up to Joan's spare bedroom, where his spare pair of swimming trunks was kept.

Ten minutes later Louisa heard him chattering away to Joan in the kitchen. She was settled on a blanket under some trees on the farm, which provided adequate shade for the children to spend the afternoon. Appearing in the kitchen doorway he took a run up, gaily flopping head first into the pool and coming up spluttering and grinning seconds later. Louisa turned away and shielded her face from the splashes, having misjudged the distance of the pool from the blanket.

When Charlie had exhausted himself and swallowed enough water he was sat down with Joan, clutching some juice and a biscuit. Louisa took advantage of the fact that the pool was calm and that most of the water was now soaking the grass around it. She sat baby Joan in the glorified puddle and giggled as the erratic baby limbs managed to get as much splash as possible out of the water. After a while, Louisa found herself very soggy.

xxx

The next afternoon Martin came out to discover an empty surgery. Making an enquiry with Pauline, he discovered that all three of the appointments for the rest of the day had been cancelled, and the waiting room remained miraculously empty. He observed that he didn't get nearly so many malingerers when the weather was nice. Anyone with cases of sunburn and sunstroke – people who would usually expect an hour long consultation and miracle cure – found themselves heading down to the pharmacy after word got round that Martin was dishing out scathing lectures on the dangers of skin cancer. Pauline was more than happy to take the afternoon off, so Martin made the drive across to the farm to enjoy the rest of the afternoon with his wife and children. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Louisa had resigned herself to getting wet, donned a bright red swimsuit and was sitting in the paddling pool herself with Charlie and some toy boats. He made his way over to the blanket where his aunt was looking after the twins – this time placed far enough away that the splashes wouldn't reach it. Eventually Charlie began to shiver and was sat on a blanket with a towel and biscuit. His sister was squirming impatiently.

'Martin, can you pass Joan in? It's time for our daily splash fest, isn't it?

Receiving both a kiss and her young daughter over the side of the paddling pool, she sat Joan up opposite her and prepared for the inevitable deluge of water. But it never came. Instead, Joan began to shiver, cry and squirm even more as the cold water lapped against her skin. She held out her arms to be picked up again.

'Martin?'

Louisa lifted Joan out of the water, but her crying didn't subside. Stepping over the edge of the pool, she dried off her hands and arms and hurried over to where Martin was busy towelling Joan off, whilst simultaneously checking her over.

'She normally loves the paddling pool, is she okay?'

'Hmm. Her breathing's a bit irregular...' Martin stole a quick glance at Louisa, who was now visibly fretting.

'Louisa, remember what we discussed about me thinking aloud. Go and see Charlie, get him dressed.' Louisa obeyed, not yet fully satisfied but glad that Martin was taking care of the situation. One of his most worrying habits was murmuring aloud as he thought through his diagnosis. She knew that the symptoms he spotted were rarely as scary or mysterious as they sounded, but that did nothing to settle her concern in the heat of the moment.

'Come on Charlie, time to put our clothes on now.'

She was as quick as she could be. When she and Charlie emerged fully clothed into the garden, Martin had finished his examination. Joan was subdued, sitting on the lap of her namesake and bundled up in a jumper and mittens. Martin was dressing James in his vest, shorts and t-shirt.

'What is it? Why's she wearing all that? Martin, is she okay?'

'Her hands and feet are a little cold – don't worry! It takes the circulatory system a while to develop. Sometimes in babies their hands and feet don't get quite so much blood because it's being directed to their vital organs. From her other symptoms, I'd say she probably has a cold. But I'll do a proper examination when we get back, and we'll keep an eye on her this evening.'

'You're sure?'

'No, I'm not sure. But if I thought she was in any immediate danger, do you think we'd still be here?'

Mollified by this, Louisa began to gather up everything to go.

xxx

Martin, I need your help, it's Joan. I think something's wrong.'

'Why, what is it? Martin had kept an eye on their baby the previous night. She'd not wanted to feed much, but he hadn't seen anything too worrying.

'She's been sick, three times now, and she's gone all pale. And she's still not breathing properly. I think it's serious, Martin!'

Martin began to feel uneasy. Louisa could be a bit overprotective at times, but it meant she knew her children like the back of her hand. And she didn't usually make this much of a fuss about nothing.

'Does she have a rash?'

'No, I checked already. So it isn't meningitis, is it?'

'Not something we can rule out. I'll be home as soon as I can.'

'Martin...'

'Louisa, try not to panic.'

**2048**

The events of that summer flashed through Martin's memory.

He remembered that despite his reassurances, he'd panicked himself.

He remembered how he'd made the quickest escape from Portwenn surgery on record.

He remembered that never since had he cursed the small roads and obstructions of the village so much.

As he jumped immediately into alert attention, he remembered that there could be no frenzied rush across the village this time. This was out of his hands.

'What is it, what's happened?'

'She's all sick and dizzy, she tried to walk but she had to sit down again. The car's not far but I don't want her passing out on the way, especially given our family history. Could it be anaemia? You know – could she have got it from me?'

'No. Your anaemic tendencies were lifestyle related, it wouldn't be hereditary. Doesn't mean she hasn't got it though, developing anaemia during pregnancy isn't uncommon. Although-'

'Martin, I don't want a medical lecture? What do we do?'

'Has she eaten?'

'Yes, and yes, it did have plenty of iron.'

'Right. Have you called Peter? Could he get there, check her over?'

'No, he's out on a house call in Bodmin. God knows where but it's out of mobile range.'

'Okay. Well, we'll work with what we have. You say she was nauseous?'

'Yes.'

'Ask her if she had morning sickness.'

'She did.'

'Ash her how it compares to that.'

There was a pause, and Martin could hear voices murmuring. One of the worst things about being a doctor was that he knew of so many possibilities, so many things that could be happening. He didn't want to think about them, but he knew that if worst came to worst if would be essential. His medical brain was already way ahead of him.

'She says it's worse.'

'Does she have a headache?' As the two conferred again, Martin drummed his fingers agitatedly against the arm of the bench.

'She has recently, on and off.'

'And at the last check up they said high blood pressure.' His heart sank. 'Louisa, don't panic. This is just a precautionary measure, but I need you to call an ambulance and tell them suspected pre-eclampsia. It might be mild, it might be early stages, it might be something completely different, but we're not taking risks here. Call me as soon as you have any information.'

xxx

Louisa cursed Martin. _Don't panic_. She'd heard that one before.

**2012**

Louisa knew that that right about then, Martin would be making his way across the village as fast as was humanly possible. Their house was up a hill, on the furthest possible point away from the surgery without leaving the village itself. This meant that it would only just be quicker for him to drive than to run – but she knew that when children had meningitis, speed was of the essence. The next five minutes were spent in abject terror, and seemed to last forever. A forever spent violently chewing on her lip and glancing nervously at the advancing minute hand on the clock. Imagining Martin's car slowly snaking through the narrow lanes of the village, as she examined every inch of their baby girl for the rash she knew could be fatal. Trying to force back the choked sobs that kept coming, as she watched her daughter gradually turn blue.

Finally, she heard his arrival through the open front door and sighed - a strangled cry of relief as he took the stairs two at a time. Taking one look at Joan, he paled.

'Call an ambulance.'

xxx

After Louisa had made the call, a fraught discussion was taking place in the bedroom.

'I don't want to leave her, Martin. I can't, I just can't, what if-'

'Louisa. We have three children. Two of them need to be cared for. I need to travel in the ambulance to argue with whichever moron they have staffing it today, and I promise I will do everything in my power to look after her. You need to call Aunty Joan to come and get the boys. Then come and meet me in the hospital. I will call you with any developments.'

She knew that what he'd said made sense, but even so – what if – what if... she could bear to think it. Her mind was full of what ifs, of bleak tales of babies, even the survivors... Martin was interrupting her tormented thoughts again.

'We've caught this early. That makes the prognosis much more favourable, and right now I am doing everything I can for her.'

'Yesterday, we should have caught it yesterday, we should have taken her to be checked anyway, I should have-'

'Louisa! Listen to me. What has happened has happened, it couldn't have been prevented, and you need to calm down. Panicking and beating yourself up about it isn't-'

'Martin my baby is blue, I think under the circumstances-'

'STOP!'

Louisa took a deep breath and looked away, silently not caring about his remonstrations.

'Say that again.'

'What?'

Louisa was confused, but she could see Martin's mind working, puzzling something out.

'Say that again, what you just said!'

'I said we have a bloody _blue baby_, so-'

'Blue baby!'

Martin kissed Louis on the forehead just as paramedics burst into the room. Martin immediately began spouting all kinds of Latin medical jargon as Louisa, more confused and frightened than ever, took Joan's tiny hand in hers.

Martin took her aside and pulled her into a hug.

'We have to go. I'll meet you at the hospital, but you can relax. I'm pretty sure I know exactly what's wrong; all she needs is the right treatment. Don't panic. It's fine.'

She saw a grimace of what she recognised as relief cross his face as he took up his medical bag and hurried out the door. She was left standing alone and confused in the middle of the nursery.

'Relax. How exactly do you propose I do that, Martin?' She muttered to herself as she picked up James, who had been woken by the commotion and begun to cry.

**2048**

After a brief phone call from Louisa to let him know the ambulance had reached them, Martin retired back to their room to worry himself. He had always been such a confident diagnostic – overconfident to the point of fault on the rare occasion that he was wrong.

Only when he was personally connected to the case did he doubt himself. Only when it was his wife, his children, his aunt, did he check his diagnosis over and over, stewing on it for hours as he awaited his verdict.

Back then he'd attempted to console Louisa before leaving, but now he knew the sheer confusion and helplessness she must have felt remaining behind. Left behind as her only daughter disappeared in the ambulance with life threatening symptoms. He knew what it felt like now. Useless. Useless and terrifying. Goodness knows what was happening to his daughter without him there to oversee things.

Back then, at least Louisa had him, a medic on hand to check the condition. This time he'd done his best, raised the alert, but it wasn't enough and he couldn't do anything more. Joan hadn't been examined, no-one could know anything until she got to hospital and he couldn't be reassured. All he could do was sit and stare at the phone, which remained teasingly silent for several long, relentless hours.

**2012**

Louisa sat next to Charlie on the sofa as he watched television, feeding James and trying to act naturally for the sake of her shrewd toddler. She grinned weakly at him as he laughed, then checked again the two wireless handsets and her mobile lying beside her on the sofa, urging Martin to ring and just tell her _something_. She knew that she had to put Joan's best interests first and also that he couldn't call her from certain areas of the hospital, so tried not to be too impatient. But she was stressed and she was sure James could feel her tension, as he seemed out of character too. She put him back down for his nap and headed down to rejoin Charlie, when Joan made her way through the front door. Louisa had never been so glad to see her, and hugged her in relief before bursting into tears. Joan stroked her back for about thirty seconds before taking her by the shoulders.

'Come on now, calm down.'

Not someone else. Did no-one else understand just how terrifying the situation was?

'I understand what you must be going through, but carry on like this and you'll be in no fit state to drive. Are you sure you'll be okay?'

'I'll have to be. Thanks for coming at such short notice, Joan.'

'Any time. Off you go, then. Keep me posted.'

'I will.' Finally relieved at being able to do something, Louisa grabbed her keys and plugged her phone into her cars hands free device, in case Martin decided to call. Two minutes later, she was en-route to Truro.

**2048**

Martin had no such relief. Stuck in this building, in this chair, he was... stuck. Right now he wished he'd learned more about obstetrics, so that he could have helped more during their brief phone consultation.

Suddenly he jumped, as the phone he had been staring so intently at burst into life. After a stunned moment, he grabbed it.

'Louisa?'

'Yeah, it's me Martin. You were right, as usual.'

'Oh, God.' The news that his diagnosis had been correct wasn't at all cheering, and Louisa didn't sound too happy either.

'Have they told you anything else, how bad is it, how is she? Any seizures?'

'No, apparently it's only mild. Not much they can do for it apparently.'

'Well, the only real cure is delivery.'

'Which can't happen for another month and a half at least. It's not urgent, but she can't exert herself. She's asleep at the moment; they're keeping her in overnight to monitor her. But then she'll basically have to rest all the time, bed rest in the evenings, and you can imagine how much she likes that idea.'

'Not at all?'

'Exactly. She was so scared, it just wasn't like her. It was like when she was little again, I was trying to reassure her without treating her like a kid, it's harder than you'd think.'

Martin could sort of understand her predicament, though he'd always been the opposite, useless at dealing with children. He'd never really had much experience with them, and soon realised that mostly they weren't as intelligent as Peter had been as a nine year old and needed everything oversimplified. He did however gain a mysterious respect from them that he rarely understood. He'd always been spoken to in a straightforward manner as a child and adopted this behaviour himself – which meant he couldn't appreciate the satisfaction they felt at having an adult conversation free from the white lies that grownups usually told.

'When will you get home? I want to see her.'

'I just want to wait either until she wakes up or till Peter gets here. Then I'll come back, we can go in for visiting hours this evening.'

'You sound tired.'

'I am, it's been quite a day. Right, I'd better go, I think that's Peter's car. See you later.'

'Bye.'

Martin sat back, the terrible thoughts in his head lessening a little.

**2012**

Louisa hurried into the hospital, clueless as to where they'd actually gone. The children's ward? A and E? Intensive care? Shuddering at the last option, she made her way to the main reception desk, where she found out that Martin had been quite insistent in leaving a message for her. The disgruntled receptionist said that in the end he hadn't trusted her to remember it, and had written it down himself.

_Joan Ellingham, Butterfly Ward._

Louisa rolled her eyes at Martin's disdain for hospital staff and shot what she hoped was an apologetic smile at the woman behind the desk, before heading off in search of Butterfly Ward. She smiled as she passed through the cheery children's department with huge pastel coloured murals painted across the corridors. Glancing into the wards as she passed, she saw similar brightly coloured rooms. Each door had a large smiling insect painted on it – Grasshopper, Bumblebee, Caterpillar, Ladybird. She turned the corner and saw that in stark contrast to the lemon walls was Martin's dark grey suit. She rushed up and sighed with relief as he briefly enveloped her in his arms. Only two doors stood on this corridor, side by side. She ignored the door with a grinning blue dragonfly and peered straight through the window of Butterfly Ward.

This huge room told a different story to the wards for older children. Though the paint jobs were the same, the rows of beds were replaced by rows of incubators – about fifteen baby girls lay under uniform pink blankets. The lights had been dimmed and the nurses looked clinical – despite efforts to make the room homely, it was a grim environment. Solemn looking parents peered through the clear plastic of all except one, furthest from the door. Martin caught her arm as she went to rush in.

'Why can't I go in, isn't she okay?'

'She's fine – or at least, she will be. She's receiving oxygen and treatment, and she should be breathing properly on her own soon. Then we can take her home and keep giving her the medication there. But she still looks very ill, worse than she really is.'

They entered the ward. One of the nurses bent over Joan's incubator looked up and nodded at Martin in acknowledgement, and he took Louisa by the hand and led her across the room.

Nothing could have prepared Louisa for how tiny and sick her daughter could look. Surrounded by the huge bed machine thing, with wires and tubes and monitors and goodness knows what else smothering her. She'd always been the bigger of the twins, but she'd lost weight now. And her skin... she'd seen it a similar colour once before, but the mottled purple skin of newborns was standard. Here, the blue-ish hue of her six month old daughter clashed dark against the sickly pink of the blanket. Her hand went to her mouth, unable to believe how wrong this looked.

'What's she got, Martin?'

'Blue baby syndrome.'

Louisa stared at Martin incredulously. She was completely dumbfounded – his face was completely solemn and she couldn't believe... at a time like this...

'Martin, of all the times to try out a joke-' He looked insulted.

'It's not a joke! Do you honestly think, with her in there-'

'No. No, I'm sorry. So, she's got _what_?'

'Methemoglobinemia.'

'And what's that when it's at home?'

'Well, it's more common name is blue baby syndrome. It occurs when the body ingests too much nitrate and the digestive system converts it to nitrite, affecting the haemoglobin which carries oxygen in the blood. Basically, her blood isn't carrying oxygen.'

'But you said she ingested... I'm still breastfeeding them, they get formula at Joan's, but in any case they're fed exactly the same. How did she get this thing and why doesn't James have it?

'I think she picked it up from the paddling pool. You told me James doesn't go in?'

'You know what he's like. He doesn't even like the bath.'

'And you told me she splashes. Well, she probably ingested a fair bit of that water. Aunty Joan collects her own water supply for the farm chores; she probably used it to fill the pool. Only, with all the organic fertilizers she uses – there are nitrates in there just waiting to infect the water.'

'But I've been in there, Charlie's been in there – God, Martin – he practically drinks the whole pool! What about him! What about me?'

'The reason it's called 'blue baby' is because it rarely affects children over the age of six months. The methemoglobin – the thing that affects her oxygen supply – is produced regularly in the body, but adults and older children produce an enzyme that converts it to haemoglobin. Babies don't have enough enzymes to convert it, and she's had more than she can cope with. You and Charlie will be fine.'

Louisa wasn't up to listening to complicated biology right now. All she cared about was the fact that Joan was going to be okay. Soon, the nurse showed them how to lift her out of the incubator without disrupting her oxygen and medication feeds. Cuddling her baby carefully as if she were made of glass, Louisa leant on Martin in the chair next to her and rested her head on his shoulder. Hearing her muffled sobs against the fabric of his jacket as Joan's eyes flickered open, Martin placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in tighter, huddled together against the horror of the day behind them.

**2048**

Remembering the events of that day all too well, Martin sat in wait for Louisa to return from the bathroom. Finally, he'd been able to travel to the hospital and get his reassurance. Far from the small, weak creature in the scarily large incubator, Joan was literally larger than life and complaining about the narrow hospital bed in which she had to spend the night. Actually, she was complaining about everything, including the fact that she'd have to spend much of the next month or two lying down.

'I really don't know how you do it, Dad. Even the prospect of it is driving me up the wall.'

Not minding her complaining, as it proved once and for all that his daughter was still very much alive and spirited, Martin chuckled.

Louisa was much more subdued about the entire affair. After having spent most of the day worrying herself as she drove up and down Cornwall, she was exhausted. Seeing the beaten look in her eyes as she emerged into their bedroom, Martin wheeled himself over to the small sofa in the corner of the room which he rarely used, having his own portable chair. As he used his arms to hoist himself from the chair to the sofa, Louisa joined him in her soft blue dressing gown. Tucking her legs up beside her, she curled into him and he felt her soft hair against his neck. As he gently stroked her leg through the softness of her robe, she lifted her head and smiled wearily at him. He smiled back, looking into her beautiful green eyes which closed as he brushed his lips gently against hers. Sighing as she settled back down, she spoke a few quiet words.

'She'll be okay, won't she Martin? They'll all be okay.'

He wasn't sure if she was speaking about the events of the day, or if she was lost in the same world of memories as him.

'As long as I'm here, they'll all be just fine.'

She shifted her position slightly and he felt her breath on his neck as she muttered:

'Good.'

He wasn't sure how long they remained there for. When he next checked, her breathing was deep and she was very still. Not having the heart to wake her, he rested a cushion behind his head and closed his eyes. Soon he too was asleep.

Coming past on her evening rounds, Pauline opened the door and suppressed a chuckle at the sight of the fierce old man being used as a human pillow. Smiling at the tender expression on his face, she left his morning medication on the bedside table and dimmed the lights.

'Sweet dreams, Doc,' she muttered, as she shut the door and left them to their peaceful slumber.


	12. Chapter 12

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Chapter Twelve

Joan lifted her legs onto her sofa as Louisa came by with the hoover.

'You know I can do that myself, Mum. I'm allowed to be on my feet for a few hours a day.'

'If you want to spend your precious up and about time cleaning, you can be my guest and start on the kitchen surfaces. You know you're not supposed to be lugging around heavy vacuum cleaners.'

'I've been vacuuming the rest of the time, didn't do me any harm.'

'That was before you were diagnosed with a potentially life threatening condition, Joan.'

'You sound like Dad.'

'You want me to bring him into this?'

Joan rolled her eyes as Louisa flashed one of her sternest teaching expressions.

'No.'

Louisa sighed as she flicked off the vacuum and sat down beside her daughter.

'Look, I know it's not fun and I know you're bored, but if you go against doctor's orders it will be worse in the long run.'

Tears welled up in Joan's eyes which she furiously brushed away.

'I just hate having to rely on you for stuff, it's not like I'm a kid!'

'No, but now you have one and you have to look after her. I know it's a pain in the arse. When I was pregnant with Charlie your dad did nothing but moan about me doing too much and to do this and to not do that.'

'He always over-reacts.'

'He wasn't, actually. I ended up with a kidney infection and I was out for a few days feeling God-awful. If I'd just done what he'd said it'd have worked out easier in the end. So just sit tight, eh? It's only for another month and a half and then you'll be dying for a sit down. And I'll be out of your hair soon when Peter gets back from his conference. Which, need I remind you, he was going to cancel until you convinced him you'd be fine here with me.'

'I didn't think you'd be so strict!'

'Fancy a quick jog round the harbour, do you? For heaven's sake, I thought you hated housework.'

Helpless against her mother's sensible arguments, Joan shifted into a less awkward position and reopened her book as Louisa picked up the vacuum.

xxx

Martin wheeled his chair into the day room and opened his book again. He'd started it just yesterday morning, and already there was barely a chapter left. He'd always been a fast reader. He had begun reading before starting school, and when he finally arrived he drove his teachers to distraction. He didn't see the point of reading every word individually, since he could gain a perfectly adequate comprehension of the text by taking in just the important words in a sentence. Class reading had been frustrating, listening to his classmates struggling through every word when he could easily skim ahead. When the books they were reading progressed to something that was actually interesting, he was frequently scolded for simply shutting out the rest of the room and reading the story at his own pace. Louisa read much more slowly than he did. She told him that it was because she liked to appreciate the entire story. Personally he thought she'd simply adapted herself so that she wouldn't be driven mad by the snail-like reading pace of the average five year old.

This technique had only improved over the next seventy five years, and now he could plough through text at a formidable rate. It had slowed a little when he was around sixty, until he realised that his ciliary eye muscles were weakening and purchased a pair of reading glasses. They were always placed in his pocket, his bedside drawer or on his face. He couldn't understand how Louisa misplaced hers so often – it was simple if you kept them in the same place all the time. They always had to be to hand as he read so often. He rarely watched television because any relevant documentaries were so often filmed with the average viewer in mind. They were basic, dull and often exaggerated or miscalculated the facts.

Closing the book, he removed his glasses and headed back to his bookcase. Skimming the pile of library books, he discovered that he had read them all before. He'd have to ask Louisa to drive him back to the local library at some point, or order some new texts online. He stared at the spines for a while. He felt that he'd read them all too recently. Sighing, he remembered that there was a 'library' downstairs in the home. He doubted that anything there would be particularly stimulating, but at least it would be new. As he wheeled his way down the corridor to the lift, he looked at his watch. Two hours until Louisa would be home - Peter was due back from his conference any time now. He was desperately looking forward to her return, as she was one of the only people with whom he could have an interesting conversation. The other residents were of the moronic variety typical of Portwenn. So were most of the nurses actually – and in any case they were mostly too busy.

Today was one such day. Two residents had passed away in the night, and there was a flurry of activity downstairs. One of the dead women was relatively young, simply in for convalescence of her hip surgery. She had been friends with almost everyone in the home – Louisa included, he realised with a pang of sadness. For him, death was merely a part of life and he thought that an excessive fuss was made over it. But Louisa had a very different opinion and he hated to see her upset. The nurses not dealing with the newly empty rooms and administration were consoling the woman's friends – and he noticed with a roll of his eyes that the newest young nurse was also bawling her eyes out, and had to be escorted from the room.

He saw her taken from the nursing station to join the ambulance, suffering from an obvious panic attack. This one wasn't going to last long in the job. He wondered why on earth she'd gone into the profession as he continued to the room next door which was labelled 'Library'.

Unexpectedly there was a rack of specialty magazines, and he soon found one to his interest. A large sign on the wall instructed 'Please take any and all items to the check out desk to loan'.

The check out desk turned out to be a glorified hole in the wall between the library and the nursing station next door. He parked his chair up in front of it, but no-one was at home. He rapped on the wooden frame of the hatch to no reply. Well, he'd be damned if he was going to hang about in here all day. He released his brake and was about to leave with the magazine, when he heard a weak voice coming from the hatch.

He couldn't see into the room properly. He went out the way he'd come and discovered Joy Cronk in the open doorway of the nursing station.

'Nurse? Nurse?' She wheezed in between shaky words. She was living at High Trees for this weekend only. She lived in a cottage next to the Portwenn surgery, and Peter had rigged up a buzzer system so that she could alert him if she was in trouble. But whenever he went away, he booked her a room in the local care home. Her asthma was much improved since she was no longer responsible for Peter and had sold up the shop, but she still had the occasional relapse in stressful situations. Clearly now was one such time.

'Mrs Cronk? Mrs Cronk, where's your inhaler?'

'L-lost.' Could no-one take care of anything these days? Especially such a life saving device as an inhaler. He looked about for one of the bright red buttons that were present around the nursing home. Then he realised with scorn that the buzzers alerted the nurses. In the nursing station. Which was where they were. Alone.

'NURSE!'

There was no reply. He was confused. Surely there should be one member of staff at the station at all times? Clearly not. He remembered the negligence he'd seen once before at High Trees – and now the nurses were run off their feet. He looked to Mrs Cronk. She'd probably pushed the button in her room already and waited for the nurse. Who'd never come. She'd dragged her way down to the nurses station – where on earth were they all? She was weak and if someone didn't arrive soon, they'd have yet another death on their hands.

He called again – no reply. Mrs Cronk was panicking, which wasn't helping her current situation.

He looked around. At the back of the room behind a counter, there was a huge locked cabinet. He presumed that was where they kept the patient prescriptions – but he couldn't get his chair much further into the room and certainly not behind the counter. Casting his eyes desperately across the room, he spotted the huge rack of keys on the opposite wall. He could just make it over there. Scanning the rows, he sighed. There were the emergency room keys for all of the residents. Main doors, side doors, back doors, kitchen doors, bathroom doors. The key for every conceivable lock was hung on this rack. He recognised his own room key amongst them, but it took him a while to find the correct one for the cabinet. Luckily it wasn't too high on the rack, and he could just about reach up to it. He'd be angry about the abominable security here later.

'Mrs Cronk. Listen to me, this is important. You need to go behind the counter and open that cabinet.'

Her eyes widened and she shook her head at the idea of breaking into the medicine supply, and her breathing became more erratic. Martin had little patience at this point.

'Mrs Cronk. You have two choices. You can open that cabinet for me, or we can wait for a nurse to arrive and hope you aren't dead by the time they get here!'

This tack worked a little better – she practically choked on the thought but began slowly making her way to the medicine cabinet. Her shaking hands seemed to take forever to turn the key in the lock, but eventually it was open. Martin began quizzing her on the contents. Luckily they were labelled alphabetically. He instructed her to bring the small drawer with her name on it to him, and he sifted through he medication until he found two inhalers. Scanning the print on the side, he assessed her quickly as she slumped on the floor against the counter. Eventually satisfied, he handed her one and helped her to use it. He felt relief as he heard her breathing begin to improve. A new burst of coughing caused her to vomit onto the floor next to her, just as Martin heard footsteps behind him.

'What the hell have you done?'

He felt the back of his wheelchair grasped and yanked backwards, a few seconds later he'd been deposited in the corridor by an irate nurse. She used the small device on her belt to contact security. So they had communication when it suited them, Martin noticed. At least she seemed to know her medical training. He watched as she moved Mrs Cronk into the recovery position and took a nebuliser from one of the counters. He watched as the burly member of security bounded up the stairs. On discovering that his charge was in a wheelchair, he merely stood close by and waited for the nurse to finish her examination and call to her the manager of the care facility.

xxx

'She's alive, isn't she? Which wouldn't be true if no-one had been present at the time.'

'Dr Ellingham, you no longer hold a medical license. Prescribing medicines without a license is illegal.'

'I didn't prescribe the drugs, I opened a cabinet and administered them! You don't need a medical license to work an inhaler!'

'You could have killed someone!'

'Look at her, she's fine. If I hadn't been there, she could have been on her way to the morgue by now.'

'Nevertheless, you broke into that cabinet, there was confidential information in there, countless drugs. We can't treat the matter lightly.'

'You're the ones who have a glaring security and neglect issue! If you're going to abandon your duty of care by not having someone at the nursing station-'

'As has already been mentioned, there was an emergency, Mr Jenkins-'

'_If_ you're going to abandon your duty, don't leave the medicine cabinet available for anyone to get their grubby fingers in! And I notice my room key is left on the wall for all to get at too. I'll be making an official complaint-'

The local police officer, who had remained quiet until now, spoke up.

'I happen to believe that Dr Ellingham has a point. There was no harm done, and thanks to the good doctor here Mrs Cronk will be making a full recovery. I say we should all just leave the matter here.'

Martin had a great deal of respect for PC Harding – she'd been brought up in the village but gone to train with the Metropolitan police in London. She'd returned to Portwenn for family reasons, but her combination of city training and old fashioned village values made her the perfect candidate to keep the local area in order.

She exited the main office with him, leaving the manager and security tutting behind them.

'Nice work, Dr Ellingham. I've heard stories, saying you were first rate GP in your time. I guess you never lose the basics!' She clapped a hand on his shoulder. Surprised at the stories that had apparently gone round the village, he was irritated none the less. He was about to shrug her off when he heard his name cried.

xxx

Louisa had come as quickly as she could. Joy had asked the staff to telephone Peter and let him know what had happened. It was a confusing tale, but seemingly Martin had been involved and the police were called in. He had just arrived home, and relayed the information to Louisa and Joan. It was under pain of death that Joan promised to stay rested so that Louisa could see Martin, and Peter could go to Truro to pick up his mother.

Hurrying into High Trees, she headed straight up to their bedroom, then the day room. Martin was nowhere to be seen. Reaching the top of the stairs, she saw him being escorted out of the main office by a policewoman, looking sulky as a hand was kept firmly on his shoulder.

'Martin!'

What on earth was going on? Was he in trouble? It looked serious. She made to start rushing down the stairs, but the heel of her shoe caught on the top step.

Too late, her hand clutched mid air.

xxx

'LOUISA!'

Martin watched helplessly and dread closed in on him as he stared down at Louisa's crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs.


	13. Chapter 13

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Chapter Thirteen

For Martin, the world had seemed to slow down as he watched his wife tumble down the stairs. There was a sudden silence as, with a final thud, she came to a halt at the bottom. Her leg was bent underneath her, arm crooked. Her face was obscured by her thick hair. The clasp which usually held it back so pristinely lay next to her, cracked from the force as her head had hit the banister. Luckily it seemed to have taken the brunt of the impact – he could see no sign of head injury, just a small cut on her neck caused by the broken clasp. Somehow even in his dazed state he was strangely calm, and his medical persona took over.

'Louisa? You, check her pulse, you call an ambulance.'

PC Harding dashed across to Louisa and felt around at her exposed neck.

'I think it's there… bit fast.'

'How fast?'

'I'm not a medic, Dr Ellingham.'

Luckily this time a nurse was on the scene almost instantly. She pushed the hair away from Louisa's face. He could see that her eyes were closed, but she responded to the nurse's touch. She moaned slightly as the nurse repeated the procedure.

'Fast and weak, but definitely there. Louisa? Can you hear me? Mrs Ellingham?'

'Martin…'

Martin wheeled his chair as close as he dared to without hurting her. Bent almost double, he could just about reach down and stroke her head.

'I'm here.'

'Martin.'

She stated his name matter of factly, seemingly satisfied by his presence. Then she whimpered slightly again, and lay still.

'Louisa, you've broken your arm and also your hip. We're going to take you to hospital.'

There was no reply.

'She's going into shock. Where's the ambulance?'

'Shouldn't be long, we've got a direct line.'

xxx

Martin watched in anguish from the doorway of the home as the ambulance holding Louisa drove off down the lane, sirens blaring. He'd wanted to be with her, to hold her hand and stroke her hair like she'd done for him after his accident. But to hoist him into the ambulance too would have taken too many seconds of precious time, and he wanted her to be seen to as soon as was humanly possible. Louisa had always insisted on using the NHS whenever she went to hospital – she didn't think it was fair that some people's health was treated as more important because they had more money. But right now he was more concerned for her life than her principles - he had private medical insurance, and he was going to use it. It wasn't like she was in a fit state to complain about it anyway.

Now he had to wait. Peter had to take care of Joy, so he was stuck back in Portwenn. James was the next closest person they could contact. He was to come and pick up Martin, and Charlie was to meet them there. Martin wondered if she was receiving adequate care for her injuries. Surely… he knew that Smith-Peterson was on the staff now. Martin admired him as an efficient, no nonsense man and he knew that with him heading the team, things would run as clockwork. Then there was the fact that the name Ellingham in Truro hospital was enough to make even the most slovenly practitioner straighten up and work to the best of his ability.

He knew that he was worrying too much, that she was in the best possible hands. But even so, he couldn't help wishing that he was there to supervise. His brilliant mind was in turmoil as he debated how much of a difference it would have made – if they'd even allowed him to make a difference. He would probably have simply been a hindrance. He hoped against hope that he would have been nothing but a hindrance.

He sighed in a decisive manner, but no productive action could accompany it. He was still alone, sat on the deserted driveway, straining his ears for the sounds of James' car.

xxx

'Dad!'

The large car swung into the driveway, and James quickly strode over. He received no reply from his father, who had already wheeled his way towards the open door and was transferring himself into the front seat as quickly as possible. Within a minute the manual chair had been folded into the boot and they were moving smoothly out of the long drive.

'Hi Dad.'

Martin jumped – in his concentrated haste he hadn't realised that the back seat was occupied.

'Joan, you're supposed to be resting!'

'Did you seriously expect me to stay at home?'

'Don't you know how serious-'

'I walked to the car, James got my things, and I'll walk from the car to the hospital. It's not exactly strenuous. Mum said-.'

'Of course she did.'

'She said that with Charlie-'

'She overstrained herself, spontaneously went into labour and Charlie was born in a pub. Fine, follow in her footsteps. Unfortunately the medical profession never caught up to your mother's frivolous attitude to pregnancy.'

'Sorry to butt in – but we're heading for the hospital Dad, so if something did go wrong she'd be in the best place.'

Martin grunted. James' calm logic had got through to him where Joan's hot temper hadn't. He should have learned that after thirty six years, James would still stick by his twin sister through thick and thin.

'Try to hang onto it though, sis. You've got a month left yet.'

'Don't remind me.'

They made the rest of the journey in silence, thinking the same worrying thoughts. James kept his eyes on the road, but Joan had hers fixed on her father's profile. His face was in shadow, but every line was deep with worry. Surely it wasn't that bad? There'd been a fall, but she thought it was just broken bones. Then she remembered what an accomplished medical professional he was. He knew things she didn't – and whatever it was, his worry frightened her.

Looking in the rear view mirror, James saw the glint of tears in her eyes and followed her silent gaze. He wanted to reassure her, but he knew that his empty words could mean nothing against Martin's obvious distress. He could do nothing but reach back and briefly squeeze her hand before bringing his own back to the wheel.

xxx

Twenty minutes later Martin made his way into the familiar old hospital. Joan made her way directly to one of the benches lining the walls, and Martin followed James' long strides as he headed to the reception desk.

'Hi, we're looking for my mother, Louisa Ellingham. She's just been brought in this evening.'

'What department?'

Martin decided that while James' niceties would probably encourage the cheery receptionist, they just didn't have the time, so he'd keep it short.

'A and E.'

'Okay, she's probably being seen to. I'll get someone from A and E to come down.'

'It's fine, we know where it is.'

'Hang on,-'

'She had broken bones, she'll be in the fracture clinic.'

'Sir, you can't just-'

'Dad-'

'Excuse me, is there a problem?'

A large security guard had appeared from a door across the room.

'My wife fell down the stairs, she probably has a broken hip, she's in the fracture clinic. Thanks for your help. I'll be on my way.'

'Unfortunately we do have visiting restrictions, when we've determined exactly where your wife is and what treatment she's undergoing then we can arrange for you to see her.'

'Did you not hear me the first time? She had a fractured hip! That could be fatal at her age! She could be _dying_, and if you don't take me there right now I'll sue the bloody-'

Suddenly Martin's shouts stopped. The waiting room fell silent, and he realised that everyone was staring at him. He was staring at himself too.

As the security guard had shifted to restrain his wheelchair, Martin had caught sight of himself in the reflection of the darkened window.

During his relative youth of forty years ago, he was used to striding around the hospital and barking orders. And to the most part, people obeyed them. He knew he was right, they knew he was right, and even if they didn't agree with him they were hard pressed to stop his six foot three stature from going wherever it damn well pleased.

Now, all they had to do was put on his brake.

He looked at the reflection and saw what everyone else in the room must have seen. A ranting, useless old fool with an irrational sense of entitlement, disobeying the professionals, thinking he knew best (he still wasn't convinced that he didn't) and being a complete pain in the arse.

The type that when he was in charge, he would have rolled his eyes at and have forcibly removed from the surgery. Yelled at. Complained about. He knew from experience that patients shouting at medical staff weren't likely to be taken seriously.

And what he could also see in the reflection was Joan, on a bench behind him, in tears. James looked visibly shell shocked too. He came across and spoke quietly to the security guard. He felt the brake released.

'C'mon, Dad.'

Martin reluctantly obeyed and followed James across the room but he couldn't help muttering.

'I'm not senile.'

As he approached his children, James was taking Joan's hand in his and putting an arm around her shoulder. She looked at Martin in anguish.

'Did you mean it?'

He didn't need to ask which part. He knew that he couldn't fob her off with this one like he had done when she was small. Wishing that he'd never opened his mouth, he tried to put it in the most subtle way he could.

'Hip fractures are one of the most common-'

She sighed and put up a hand to stop him.

'I get it.'

Then she started and gasped. Martin looked at her in panic, but before he knew it she had heaved herself off of the chair and begun making her way across the room.

Three tall men made were heading towards them – Charlie, Peter, and Smith-Peterson, head of the surgical team. Peter's high influence and Charlie's calm, quiet confidence had achieved the effect that Martin's abuse could no longer have. Peter leaned down to hug his wife.

'What are you doing here?'

'Pauline wasn't on duty tonight, so she said she'd stay with Mum. The locum who covered me last week hasn't left yet so if there's any trouble she can call him. I thought I'd be more useful here.'

Smith-Peterson had approached Martin. There was a mutual respect between them, and soon they were in a serious discussion about Louisa's condition and going through the legal papers.

'Thanks for getting the surgeon down. Dad started getting way too superior for a bit, I thought they'd refuse to see us on principle.'

'Intellectually, he is superior to most of us. Must be so irritating, all these people swanning around and treating him like he's senile. He's still an insufferable know it all, you know. If it wasn't for his handicap he'd be able to patch your mum up no problem. It must drive him up the wall having to watch other people do it – especially when they might do it wrong. He can set it aside when it's any old patient, but if anyone makes a mistake in Louisa's surgery there'll be hell to pay. Which is why we got Smith-Peterson on the job. Just as good as Martin, if not better.'

Peter knew that mistakes aside, it was still a risky procedure given Louisa's age. But knowing that they had the best surgical team working on her mother reassured Joan visibly.

'When do you think we can see her?'

'Won't be for at least eight hours, I'd say. Are you going to be okay hanging about here?'

'Guess I'll have to be, I can't go home.'

'Go and see Olivia over there – the blonde one. She'll get you a better chair.'

'Thanks.'

He kissed her briefly as the surgeons finished their conversation, and then made off to join them.

xxx

For once, Martin didn't kick up a fuss about Joan staying at the hospital with them. They'd been shown out of the main reception waiting room into a smaller room with comfortable chairs, food and drink machines and a large selection of books and magazines. For a while she'd attempted to read a magazine, then when she couldn't concentrate she'd started playing paper games with James. Even solemn Charlie had wandered over to join in for a while to take his mind off of things.

'James, don't give her a point. Irregardless isn't a word.'

'Yes it is James, put it down.'

'James! It's not a real word!'

'_Irregardless_ of the fact that Charlie is a sore loser, Joan gets the point.'

'_Regardless_ of the fact that Joan is tired and hormonal, I'm not giving in.'

'Do you want a slap?'

As Martin sat across the room, he watched the familiar scene from many years ago – Joan and James sat together, ganging up against their big brother who was hopelessly trying to be logical.

xxx

Martin could hear the bickering from the next room.

'Cleverer ISN'T a word Charlie! Mrs Harker said it last week! You've got to say _more_ clever.'

'No she didn't, because she isn't stupid!'

'Joan isn't stupid, Miss did say more clever!'

'James, it's in the dictionary.'

Martin waited for the inevitable whine.

'_Mum_!'

'You're both right, you can say cleverer or more clever.'

'See, Joan?'

'Mum said we were _both_ right!'

Forever the teacher, Louisa had always listened to the questions their children had and talked through their bizarre assumptions, whereas he was more likely to mumble 'I expect so...' or 'don't be ridiculous!'

Louisa had reproached him for this, and told him that they couldn't know better. She had to give him credit, he had tried it once. She had walked in on him explaining to a bewildered five year old James the mechanical impossibility of the flying boat from his favourite television programme. She'd decided to leave him to his own devices after that one.

xxx

Martin looked back up at Charlie. Seemingly they hadn't had the same recollection as him, for in the absence of his mother to ask for advice Charlie had grabbed a dictionary from the bookshelf next to him, and was now smugly declaring that he did after all have a degree in English.

A short while later the game wound down. The night drew in, leaving Joan exhausted from the events of the day. As the two brothers had a whispered conversation, Martin eyed his little girl as she shifted positions, trying to get comfortable. He just wished he could take some of her pain away – both the physical discomfort and the emotional stress that had been thrust upon her over the past few weeks. He barely remembered the funeral of his aunt Joan. It had been a beautiful service and he had stood up to say a few words – but all he could remember was the all consuming worry and sadness for the few uncertain days before she had passed away. It was returning now, stronger every second that ticked by when Louisa did not return from the operating theatre, but it must be far worse for Joan. She was been closer than ever to her mother during her pregnancy, and Louisa was to be there when the baby was born. She was already in a fragile state, and now she'd been thrust into a sudden world of uncertainty when, if anything, this should be the time when she should be made to feel the most secure and prepared.

Time passed and eventually she was still. As she was facing away from him, he saw just her pale face in profile. A curtain of rich brown hair had been tucked untidily behind her ears, and suddenly he was looking at his wife again.

xxx

As he felt an arm nudge his head, Martin had opened his eyes sleepily and shut them again against the light.

'Sorry!'

Fumbling around with pillows, Louisa was trying to settle her six month pregnant self into a position where she'd be able to get off to sleep. Her substantial size made it near impossible these days, and Martin suspected that soon she would stop protesting against his suggestion that he take the spare room, leaving her with more room to move about.

'I'll go and get you a drink.'

This tried and tested method generally helped to get her off to sleep, and Martin had long since learned that lecturing her about sugary hot chocolate in the middle of the night was not a route he should go down.

'Would you? I'm sorry I'm so useless.'

'You're not useless, your movement is simply restricted.'

By Martin's reckoning he'd be kept up for the next hour anyway – Louisa hadn't quite got used to the rapid shift in her centre of gravity and frequently tripped or knocked things over. She was annoyed to realise just how enormous her twin pregnancy was going to make her, and she'd already made the reluctant decision to take her maternity leave earlier than planned.

He made the hot drink quickly and efficiently and headed back up the stairs. But as he reached the doorway of their bedroom, he noticed that her head was slumped back against the headboard, eyes miraculously closed. He stopped in the doorway for a while, simply watching as she slept peacefully. She looked beautiful even now, her tired face closed off against the world as her mouth opened and gave a gentle snore.

Not wanting to disturb her, he'd placed he mug on the bedside table as quietly as he could. Turning out the light he headed for the spare room and drifted off, allowing the both of them a better nights sleep.

xxx

'Dad?'

Lost in comforting memory, Martin had managed to fall asleep himself. He didn't know how long it had been, but James was shaking him awake. He saw from the clock that he had not been asleep for more than a few hours, and across the room Peter was helping Joan slowly to her feet.

'What's happening?'

'Peter said Mum's settled, we can go and see her. '

Peter approached, holding Joan by the hand.

'How is she, were there complications?'

'I'm not an expert but the surgeon's coming down soon. There were complications, but they managed to stabilise her. She's in a bad condition, but you can go in and see her.'

There seemed to be a lot of buts - it sounded like she'd got through the surgery by the skin of her teeth. Peter's tone had been relaxed – perhaps she had been in more danger than Martin had thought. In the end he decided to focus on the fact that she had got through the surgery. He couldn't bear to think of anything else.

They arrived by the room Louisa was in, and were given strict instructions as she was still at risk of infection. In fear of this, none of them wanted to get too close, and when they were finally allowed in they gathered at the foot of the bed.

'We don't usually allow so many visitors at this stage. Dr Cronk, keep an eye on things.'

Peter acknowledged the nurse with a nod of his head. Martin wheeled his chair round so that he was positioned carefully by her head. After again using the antibacterial gel dispenser on the wall, he took her unhurt right hand in his. Her pulse still was weak, but slightly stronger than it had been earlier. Gradually their children came closer, Peter remaining at the foot of the bed to check her chart.

She was deflated, all of her usual bounce and energy gone. The hair which she'd always taken so much pride in was tangled around her face and she appeared to have shrunk, swamped by the bed, blankets, tubes and plaster cast. But to Martin, just the sight of his wife's chest moving rhythmically up and down was the most beautiful sight he'd seen in a long while – the proof that she was alive.


	14. Chapter 14

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Chapter Fourteen

Relief was tangible throughout the small group, filled with a glimpse of hope, brought together at Louisa's bedside. A family. His family. Peter observed them all, the love for her that he felt as well evident in all of their faces. He had so much to thank her for. They all did. He cast his mind back, remembering how she'd touched them, how the paths that their lives had taken was all inevitably down to her.

He didn't remember much about the night forty years ago, when his life had hung in the balance. His mum had given a glowing report of what happened, and with the village being what it was it wasn't hard to determine that her story was basically true. Louisa had protested he should go to hospital, made sure that he got there. She had answered the call in the early hours, realised something was wrong. Trekked across town in the middle of the night, raised the alarm. Called Martin, assisted him. Put aside everything between the two of them to make sure that a nine year old boy lived that night. Although Martin had been the hero of the hour, Peter had never forgotten that had Louisa not been there, Martin would in the morning have been dealing with tragedy. He owed her his life.

So did Martin, in a metaphorical sense. Peter was sure that had Louisa not have come into his life a sullen, monosyllabic, bitter old man would be hobbling around London right now. He'd never tried to hide the fact that he hated the cheery, interfering little village. When that bony, domineering woman had come along and helped him do away with the blood phobia it was Louisa who had convinced him to stay – twice. Had she let him go, he'd have spent the next thirty eight years in London, in luxury, a famous surgeon. He'd probably still have the use of his legs. But he'd not have everything he held dear in life. Martin Ellingham lived for his wife, his children and his grandchildren. He gave them everything – everything he did and would do in the future was for them. They were his life. Without Louisa, he'd have none of it, no purpose. He owed her his life as well.

Had Louisa not been there, neither would Martin. Had Martin not been there, neither would their children. In the act of giving birth to her children, she'd given so many more lives than just three. Martin wasn't the only brilliant medic who had considered leaving Portwenn. Peter had actually made the move for a time, to work in the local fracture clinic in Plymouth after leaving university.

xxx

One day, one of the local university students had been escorted in, her stormy face thunderous and beautiful. His breath was taken for just a second, until he had noticed the bloody mess that was her left arm. Bone was poking gruesomely out of the skin, which looked like it had been mauled. Most men would have cried or perhaps passed out with such a severe injury. Not this girl, not… Joan, her name was. Her face was pale with shock, but apart from a few yelps she made do with a lot of determined swearing before she received some local anaesthetic and he worked on resetting her bone. As she rolled her eyes at all the inconvenience that the aftermath of her biking accident would bring, he couldn't help but be amused.

As she stood to leave and the assistant brought him her files to sign, Peter gulped at the name on the top of the form. He couldn't be expected to recognise her, could he? Last time he'd seen her she was five – and now her hair was dyed blue.

It was sort of against code of conduct to ask out patients.

It was definitely against code of conduct to ask out Martin Ellingham's daughter.

xxx

Somehow, the obstacles had been cleared and now he couldn't imagine life without Joan. He was sure Debbie felt the same about James. Life wouldn't be the same. Then there was Shaun, Holly, Amy, Alice and Jamie – more people who wouldn't be here without the grandma who was such a massive part of their lives. Oh, how she loved her grandchildren.

He looked across at the last person in the room whose life she owed to Louisa. Still hidden at the moment, sleeping under her mother's skin. The little girl for whom he would risk everything. His daughter. Louisa had to fight, had to meet her. She'd been so excited. Any other eventuality would just be unfair.

But then life wasn't fair.

He heard the precise clicking of the nurses shoes as they tapped closer and closer down the corridor. He took one last look at the perfect scene, of the group of people whose lives were entwined by the woman laying still in the bed. Laying still, but hanging on. Not yet ready to let go.

The nurse came in, broke the tranquil scene. She started checking tubes, monitors, requesting that the patient have some peace. The group all said goodbye to Louisa in turn, before filing out into the corridor. Martin looked up at his son in law, face weary but determined.

'Peter, take Joan home.'

For once, she didn't argue. She too looked older than her years, practically dead on her feet as she made her way slowly towards the door. As Peter caught up, wrapped an arm around her waist, he looked back to see Martin, alone, wheeling his chair back into the waiting room.

xxx

Martin was awoken from where he slumped, wincing at the stiffness of his neck from the unusual position. He looked at the clock. Nine hours had passed, and the bright light of spring was streaming into the waiting room. It was then that he noticed the nurse standing in the doorway.

'Mr Ellingham, if you'd like to come and see your wife?'

His head cleared each passing second as the life came back into his arms. Had she woken? She should have done so hours ago, he was surprised that they hadn't come to fetch him sooner.

Reaching the room, he could tell that something was wrong. She was lying there still, in much the same position as she had been the last time he had seen her.

'She should have come round by now.'

'Not all patients… some take longer than others. Your wife had major surgery, there were complications… we really can't say anything definitive about her condition yet.'

Martin had snatched up the chart at the end of her bed, and was now looking at it in a daze.

'That's low. Too low. She's deteriorating.'

'Like I said, it's too early for any solid statements.'

'She's deteriorating.'

The nurse seemed at a loss for words. The man before her wasn't like the partners she usually had to deal with. Completely calm. Intelligent. Matter of fact. This one wasn't going to bury his head in the sand. The words he was using were clinical. She could almost be talking to one of the surgical team. She decided that in this case, honesty was the best policy.

'Right now, unfortunately yes.'

'Could you put a call in to Peter Cronk, please? Could you ask him to bring her family?'

'I'll see what I can do.'

She left the room, and Martin headed back up to his wife's bedside.

This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. This was a nightmare… his worst nightmare come true.

xxx

_There had been a scream, her face contorted with agony. Martin gripped her hand, terrified. Something was wrong, and Louisa was entirely lost in her own world. Suddenly there was a squall, voices bubbled up around him. It was over, he sensed, but he couldn't take his eyes off Louisa, neither she for him. There was beeping, hysteria. Only Louisa seemed calm._

'_Where's Charlie?'_

'_He's at home. Joan's looking after him.'_

'_What about… baby?'_

'_It's a girl. She's fine.'_

_Tears stung his eyes as the nurses urged him to keep talking to her._

'_Stay… stay with me.'_

'_I'm not going anywhere.'_

_Louisa's eyes closed._

'_Is she… is she…?'_

'_She's healthy, she's beautiful, and she's perfect. See her yourself, open your eyes. Open your eyes, Louisa!'_

'Martin?'

He had awoken with a jolt.

'Martin, what's wrong?'

Louisa's face bent over him in concern. His face grew red as he realised that his eyes were wet.

'Nothing.'

'It doesn't look like nothing.'

'You died.'

Louisa looked taken aback.

'Oh. Well. I suppose it's a good thing you're clearly distraught, then.'

'Yes.'

'So, how did I die?'

'That's a bit morbid.'

'Well it isn't real, is it?'

'No. It isn't real.'

Louisa could see that Martin's eyes, whilst looking in her general direction, were still glazed over.

'It'll help if you talk it over.'

'You died in childbirth. The child survived, but you didn't.'

'So I never got to know Charlie?'

'It wasn't Charlie. It was a girl. Charlie was staying with Joan.'

'So we had a daughter. What was she called?'

'I didn't get that far, you woke me up.'

'And you'd rather leave me dead? Come on Martin, it'd be your daughter. What would you call her?'

Martin really didn't see the point of pursuing this line of questioning, but admittedly it was taking his mind away from the dream. He pondered.

'Elizabeth.'

'That's a nice name. Why Elizabeth?'

'Elizabeth was my first girlfriend.'

Louisa looked astonished for the second time of the night.

'You'd name our daughter after your ex-girlfriend?'

That was when she noticed a subtle smile playing around Martin's lips.

'What is it? Martin Ellingham, what are you not telling me?'

'We were ... we were five.'

Louisa hit him over the head with her pillow.

xxx

As he mentally fended off soft blows, Martin suddenly came back to the present. There was Louisa, lying in the stark surroundings of the hospital room. There was to be no waking from this nightmare. No Louisa, bending concerned over him. Asking childish questions to take his mind off things. He remembered feeling foolish, but it had worked. He'd even felt human enough to wind her up. It turned out that awful as the joke had been, it had started a brief one-sided pillow fight, which quickly progressed to a much more interesting activity.

As if fate was tempting them, nine months later the daughter of the dream had been born, dragging a surprise brother along with her. Back then, things had seemed so simple. About new lives. This time was a far off dot in the distance. Neither of them had ever dreamed this scenario. He remembered back to their wedding. Those fateful words. 'Til Death Do Us Part.' What had seemed like an innocent vow back then, a promise to stay together forever, now seemed to be taunting him. He'd never thought he'd see them part. Because he always thought he'd go first.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. She shouldn't die before him. Women statistically live longer than men. She shouldn't die before him. He was ten years older that her. She shouldn't die before him. He was crippled.

She couldn't die before him, because he couldn't live without her.

xxx

'She looks like she's sleeping.'

'No, she doesn't.'

Martin took offence at Charlie's comment. During his surgical career, he'd heard that phrase so many times from tearful relatives – most often when the patient was dead.

She didn't look like she was sleeping; she looked like she was unconscious. Oh, how beautiful she looked when she slept. How he wished he could watch her sleep again. Sleep was such a natural state - there was nothing natural about the state she was in. The mannerisms he was used to after so many years together were all missing. Louisa always slept curled up on her left side, entwined in the duvet, cuddling a corner. Now she was flat on her back, her left arm outstretched and rigid in the thick white cast above the blanket. Her face was pale, devoid of the wonderful variety of expression that it usually displayed. Even the familiar sound of her steady breathing was unnaturally altered by the various tubes in place in her nose and mouth. The snores she so vehemently denied – she didn't have to now. She was surrendered to the powerful pain medication. He longed to hear just one. He longed for her to do anything, absolutely anything, to show him that his wife was still there.

But there was nothing. They could do nothing but stay by her side as she remained oblivious to the grief around her, dead to the world.


	15. Chapter 15

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures.**

Chapter Fifteen

Martin wheeled himself into the cavernous room and his senses were immediately bombarded. The first thing to hit him was the noise, which had been audible before he had even opened the doors. The collective murmurings of what looked like the entire population of Portwenn were amplified by the echoes in the church, and the noise bubbled louder as a sea of heads turned to face him. She would love this - the crowded, bustling roar of the great unwashed, her precious village standing together.

The second was the sweet, intense smell – so strong he could almost taste it. He realised it was the nearest bouquet of pure white roses, one of many lining the walls of the church. The smell was comforting. The smell was Louisa. After the Kenzo Flower debacle of 2007, she had abandoned that particular perfume in favour of one that smelled of her favourite flower. Closing his eyes, breathing that smell… she could be right beside him.

Then he felt the hands, the hands on his shoulder guiding him up towards his place. He shook them off. There was only one hand he wanted on his shoulder, and this one was wrong. Pauline should have known this. He and Louisa had used to walk hand in hand and he loved to feel her slender, delicate hand enclosed within his. But after his accident he felt ridiculous holding his hand up to her height, like an overgrown child. One day as they journeyed through the village, her hand had slipped to his shoulder. The years went by, and that hand remained on his shoulder through thick and thin. Grief, love, joy. Births, deaths, marriages. It was a symbol so strong of their affection that it felt inappropriate to have Pauline touching him there.

He reached his place, stared straight ahead. Not wanting to look back, to see the stares from the masses. Charlie was sat next to him, rigid as a board with face devoid of expression. James was the other side, looking sombre. And Joan… no, not Joan. He remembered now, the doctor had sent her home. The extended family spread either side. Peter was here. Debbie and the kids, the girls crying quietly. He could see the barely masked tears in Shaun's eyes. Jamie swung his legs, too young to properly comprehend what was going on.

He could hear Bert blowing his nose noisily in the row behind. Typical, Martin thought. At least he'd taken off that god-awful hat. Al, Pauline and their daughter were next, followed by Mark, Julie, Penhale, Maggie, his aunts sitting morosely across the aisle. The rest of the church was packed. Past and present students of Portwenn School filled the many pews. Martin barely recognised most of the faces, though he suspected he'd treated them all over the years for licking floors, grazing knees, chicken pox or the like. Louisa would know them all by name.

There was a flurry of movement and they all stood, a vast black sea that engulfed Martin where he sat. As Mrs Tishell's fingers began coaxing a tune out of the ancient church organ, dozens of voices began booming out 'All Things Bright and Beautiful'. Though Martin didn't agree with the sentiments of the hymn, he knew that it had been Louisa's favourite. Once his own children began attending Portwenn School, Louisa had requested he turn up to their award assemblies once in a while. At the end of each assembly this hymn was inevitably warbled tunelessly by the children before they filed back to their classrooms. It was Portwenn's unofficial school song and not a man, woman or child in the church was looking at the hymn sheets provided as they sang. Even little Jamie joined in on the end of lines, dancing happily to the music in the front row. Debbie tried to bring him back to his seat, but Martin knew that Louisa would have chuckled at the sight.

Even Martin himself sang along quietly, with a slight quaver to his voice. He'd been dragged to this church countless times over the years for ceremonies of all descriptions. There were always hymns, and Louisa always poked him when she realised that he wasn't joining in with the general chorus. Many times she'd protested.

'Just once, Martin. Just once, could you just show that you're a part of this village?'

He'd not caved in, not once. Why couldn't he have done it just once, just to please her? Now he did. Only now. Just for her. But too late. He soon felt the tears that had so often teetered on the edge, that had so often been bitten back. This time they overflowed, headed down his cheeks, fell into his lap. He was still surrounded on three sides, hemmed in by the song, trapped by the endless mass of bodies, of people she'd touched. And he couldn't bear it any longer.

Breaking the ranks, he wheeled himself out of the door, down the ramp and into the garden. The sugary sweet smell of the roses seemed to follow him, still intense. He realised they surrounded him, planted all around the wall.

And all around the box, which stood beside a hole.

He wheeled towards it. His chair caught on the rough ground, but he persevered. The villagers spilled out of the church behind him, a solemn procession still singing that old hymn.

Arriving beside the grave, he looked around him. She would like it here in the rose garden. They had always been such a part of her, consistently pure, delicate and lovely. He only had to look at the smooth white petals to be reminded of her soft porcelain skin. The glossy dark green of the leaves contrasted with the flowers as her hair had done, the long dark frame to her beautiful face. As he reached out to touch one he felt the bite of the thorn in his fingers. These were the wild roses. These roses were the Louisa he had first met. Tough and spiky and stubborn, forced to sprout harsh defences against the outside world. Armed with the ability to hurt him, pierce him, force him away. But still inexplicably alluring, impossible to drag his eyes from.

He picked the rose from his lap that had been given to him at the beginning of the service. This one had had its thorns clipped. This was his Louisa. This was the soft, approachable Louisa that he knew. The defences had been taken down. She'd allowed him to get close. This was the rose that he had grown to know, the rose in his home, the Louisa close to his heart. The wild roses were independent and free, left to grow without restraint. He'd never be able to control them – but he loved them just the same.

The roses had been a part of her. Now she would be part of the roses.

He looked at the coffin and placed the rose as close as he could to where he estimated her heart would be. Turning around, he watched as the villagers all came forward to repeat the sentiment. Roses upon roses atop her, sliding over each other, some falling to the ground. Soon the coffin could no longer be seen. Still they were coming, a snowy white mountain of petals which towered over him, suddenly threatening.

The last mourners trickled past until just one more remained. Martin watched as the final flower was placed on the top of the pile. No longer white, but glowing a soft orange in the sunset.

Suddenly the tower realised its height, and petals, leaves and stems began to cascade. A sheer avalanche of roses engulfed him, overpowered him. Buried, he was knocked backwards into the freshly dug grave, the overwhelming scent suffocating him. He choked on petals, the cheery bars of the hymn still ringing in his ears as he caught a last glance of James calling his name.

'Dad!'

Martin jolted awake, and the hymn quietened, now consisting of just three small voices singing to their grandmother her favourite song.

He spluttered as he shook his head free of the roses. He pushed away the bouquet that had been sent to Louisa's bedside by the school and sat up properly, wanting to rid himself of the smell of the nightmare. His back was stiff, jarred and aching from being slumped over in such a strange position. His face and body felt damp from tears and sweat.

'Dad, are you okay? I can send the girls out if you like.'

'Fine, I'm fine. They can stay.' A small smile cracked his face. Still half grieving, lost in nightmare – it dawned on him that it had just been a dream. And if they were letting the children in as visitors, it could only mean that Louisa had stabilised somewhat in the night.

Alice stopped singing and looked up. Her sisters fell silent too as she spoke.

'Can she hear us? The nurse said we should say stuff to her but she won't talk back so we just decided to sing instead.'

'Yes, I expect she can.'

Thinking it lucky that they were in a private room, Martin relaxed as the off key hymn started up again. They'd all tried talking to her with no response, so he supposed singing was worth a try.

'Debbie's coming to get them in a minute anyway. Listen, Peter just sent the nurse down.'

Martin's brain went into overdrive. Her vitals were as good as could be expected, she'd had treatment yesterday, and according to her chart her dressings weren't to be changed. There was nothing more they could do at the moment. His heart skipped a beat as he almost missed what James said. Almost, but not quite.

'Joan's gone into labour.'


	16. Chapter 16

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures. **

Chapter Sixteen

'_All things bright and beautiful_

_All creatures great and small_

_All things wise and wonderful _

_The Lord God made them all.'_

Louisa felt a confused relief as the unintelligible words had finally managed to rearrange themselves so that they made sense in her brain. For several days, whenever she woke up she had been bombarded with conversation. Conversation to her, conversation about her. Conversation from different directions, different distances, different voices, familiar voices, strange voices, familiar words, strange words, scary words. It was like listening to a conversation from another room, straining to hear but not quite able to catch it – except that the noise was here, right in her ears, like a foreign language that she didn't understand. She hadn't been able to follow any of the topics and she barely seemed to be able to organise her own thoughts. Each time she awoke and was subjected to the harsh confusing noise, it irritated her and she slept again, lost in her own world.

But today had been different. The most beautiful sound she could imagine – the sound of children singing. The shrill, clear melody of the three little girls had pierced the fog of her brain in a way that the soft, frustrating drone of the adults could not. Instead of willing her brain to send her back to oblivion she stayed awake, strained to listen, allowing the sweet music to wash over her and fill her senses. She smiled – or would have smiled, if her mouth would co-operate.

Then a voice interrupted the song – an adult's voice. Louisa's heart overflowed and she felt like crying for joy as she realised she could recognise the voice. At first she was simply ecstatic that she was getting her senses back, but then she realised that it wasn't just any old voice. This was Martin's voice, right beside her ear. It was Martin. Suddenly this strange dark echo world, where she was almost here but not quite, seemed more comforting. Then another voice responded. James' voice, with news that almost made her heart stop.

'Joan's gone into labour.'

'What? It's too early! She's not ready!'

'Come on, Dad. She's been ready ever since she first found out she was pregnant. You're the one who isn't ready yet.'

_I'm not ready either,_ Louisa thought with despair. She was supposed to be there. She was supposed to be helping Joan, greeting her new granddaughter into the world. She couldn't bear the thought that her girl was out there somewhere on the most important day of her life, without her.

_Time to get up, Louisa._

But her body would not co-operate. She didn't seem to have gained control of anything other than her brain and ears at the moment – and even that effort had exhausted her. She willed herself to stop thinking and dozed off yet again.

When she came back to the world outside, she caught up on the news. James had taken the girls home to bed and then returned. Martin had called Charlie, who had since arrived. James had gone up to maternity to badger the nurses for information.

'She's progressing.'

''Progressing' isn't an answer! Peter told them to tell you what you needed to know.'

'They're short staffed, Dad - I don't want to harass them.'

Louisa rolled her eyes – or would have done if her eyes were co-operating. She wanted to tell them that arguing wasn't going to help anyone, but aside from the fact that she still felt half dead, she knew it wouldn't make any difference. She remembered how over-protective Martin had been when she had the twins, how rude he'd been to the staff when Charlie was born. She knew that he wouldn't fully trust anyone else to ensure the safety of his family, and given that Joan had been ill, he was probably worrying himself silly. But she also knew that Martin didn't know how to convey worry – so he substituted it with obnoxious rage.

'I'll go.'

She heard footsteps and knew that Charlie, ever the mediator, had left the room. He had always hated arguments, never got into fights. He'd do anything for an easy life. She thought that her tall and dignified son, already grey all over, would get more respect from the nursing staff than his louder, carefree brother. Charlie was good in a crisis – although Martin was hyper logical, his rational brain was often shoved to the side when his protective brain kicked in. Charlie would have already made the connection that Peter would be in the room with Joan – the only doctor Martin would trust to look after Joan, but tended to overlook on a regular basis.

Louisa almost felt excluded from the family excitement. It wasn't that she felt invisible - she felt sure that Martin had been talking to her while she slept. She was the reason that they were all there. But she couldn't communicate, couldn't join in. She could tell that Martin needed reassurance about Joan. So did she. They needed to be together, but they were separated by her expressionless, closed off face which concealed from the world her brain whirring inside it. She sighed. Or would have sighed, if her lungs would co-operate.

'Louisa?'

'Mum?'

There was a sudden flurry of noise around the bed and she felt each of her hands seized by her husband and son. Had she managed it? Had she made them realise she was there?

'Call the nurse.'

'Are you there, Mum?'

_Don't be daft, _she wanted to say. _Of course I'm here._

Within a minute she heard unfamiliar steps click into the ward, a soft female voice speaking beside her.

'She sighed. She definitely sighed.'

'Sometimes with coma patients, there are involuntary reflexes...'

_I am not in a flipping coma! _

Now she had their attention, and she intended to make the most of it. She sighed again. Now the nurse was paying attention.

'Louisa? Can you hear me?'

Another sigh. Crude communication, but enough to tell them she was there and listening.

'Can you speak to me?'

'Martin.'

She thought she'd said it, she could hear her voice speaking, but apparently no-one on the other side had managed it.

'Her lips are moving. She's definitely trying to say something.' Exhaling air was easy, she'd been doing it all her life. Actually projecting an intelligible sound was clearly going to be more difficult.

'Just hang in there, Louisa. Keep talking to her.'

The nurse left, and Martin gripped Louisa's hand even tighter.

'You can do it, Louisa. Wake up. You're nearly there. I know you can hear me. The baby's coming, did you hear that? Joan needs you. The baby wants to see you. You can do it.'

Louisa tried to speak once more, but her mouth was dry.

'You're doing really well.'

Louisa laughed internally. She remembered this speech well. When the twins were due, she hadn't wanted any more time in hospital than was necessary, so had planned for a vaginal birth. It turned out this was supposedly possible. She knew she had been extremely lucky to have such a quick and safe delivery with Charlie, but expected that it would be much harder this time around. Not wanting to spend hours on end with a shouting Martin, or a silent Martin, she had coached him in exactly what to say and when to say it, and also not under any circumstances to argue with her. This set of rules had actually gone down rather well, even though the lines had sounded a little rehearsed. And in the end his claims of 'you can do it' proved false, seeing as the next thing she knew she was waking groggily from a general anaesthetic with a fairly painful scar cut across her bikini line.

This time she would do it. She would be there when the baby arrived. She would wake up.

xxx

Now that they knew she was conscious, she felt a lot more involved in things. Every time they learned of a development, Martin personally relayed it to her. She was a little sick of sighing every time to show her acknowledgment, but she was afraid that if she stopped he would think she was asleep, and that she'd miss something critical. Although she would have liked nothing more than to give in to sleep, she forced herself to stay awake, forced herself to respond.

Eventually the news was relayed that her daughter's ordeal was over, and a healthy young girl had graced the maternity ward. James whooped with delight, and the rest of the room breathed a communal sigh of relief. Martin bent to Louisa to make sure she had heard, and she rewarded him by muttering 'good' and turning her lips upwards into a shadow of her beautiful grin. She heard her sons laugh with joy as, exhausted now, she allowed the foggy darkness to swallow her again.

xxx

She was awoken again by a commotion in the room. She felt much better this time, as if she had slept for a week. She supposed that this was almost true. She decided to make the most of her new found ability to speak again.

'Martin?'

Still by her side, still gripping her hand, she could hear the happiness in his voice and knew that he was smiling.

She wanted to see that smile.

'Peter just brought the baby in.'

'Is she...?'

'She's... small but perfectly formed.'

'They've called her-'

'Lucy.'

'That's right. Have you been talking to Joan?' This was Peter's voice, from somewhere in front of her.

'Lucy means... light.'

'That's right. She's right here, asleep. Do you want to see her?'

She did. More than anything.

So she opened her eyes.

She saw the light.

xxx

Martin sat beside Louisa's bed, on what felt like the happiest day of his life. Later that day, Joan had come down in a wheelchair. Hers was parked on the other side of the bed. Debbie had brought James' kids, who were sat in a huddle on the floor. Charlie was sat in a chair at the end of the bed, James lounging in another next to his sister. The whole family, all crammed together in one small room. All centred around a bed, which contained both the newest addition to the family and the one who had brought them all together.

Louisa still hadn't quite regained control, so she had been propped upright by many pillows. There was another nest of pillows in front of her, on which lay baby Lucy. Her grandmother still hadn't the strength to pick her up, so made do with simply stroking her small dark head and tiny pale fingers.

Martin looked into her eyes and saw the new light sparkling in them. She looked like she'd been run through the mill, but there was still beauty in those eyes. True happiness at the sight of her whole family sitting together, woven together by the love and trust of their marriage, of the vows spoken nearly forty years ago.

'Til Death Do Us Part'.

But not yet.

**The End**

I started this story exactly one year ago today, I'm sorry that I took so long sometimes! Glad to be able to write a happy ending for this one. I'm so grateful to everyone who read and reviewed my story and encouraged me to keep going. Thanks to all of you!

Sendibo xxx


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